Oliver nodded. He dared not trust his voice.
“Shall we—— Would you like to live here?”
Oliver’s arms were about her, and his cheek against hers.
“Jean, my darling, my darling.”
“I mean,” said Jean, with a little half-laugh, half-sob, “it seems—a pity—to leave—the Garden of Eden.”
CHRISTOPHER
CHRISTOPHER
The engine of the great car hesitated, sighed and then rested from its labour.
With a faint frown, its driver threw out the clutch and, using the slight gradient, coasted to the side of the road to berth her charge beneath the shadow of a convenient oak. Then she applied the hand-brake and opened her door.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Trelawney, “tell me the worst. Have you done this on purpose? Or is it force majeure?”