“You are strange, June, so distant, so cold. I don’t believe you really like me at all, no, really not.”
“Mind, here’s a gate. Be careful.”
“Where is the gate? You are cruel, you know. You don’t care a bit. Oh, here it is; good.”
“Care about what?”
“What about? Why, me, I mean. But this will be where we have to cross the road. Then we go through the gate which should be to the right there. Shut this one; that is the home farm we are leaving?”
“Have you got a farm all your own?”
“Yes, and why not?”
“You must be rich.”
“I am not so sure about that.”
“It must be wonderful to be rich.”