“Perhaps.”
“You aren’t very chirpy now, are you, John?”
“No, it is cold out here.”
“But don’t I keep you warm?”
“It is my other side that is so cold.”
“Well, an’ perhaps we’d better go home.”
“Yes, perhaps we had better go home.”
They get up. He staggers, then, arm in arm, they go down the hill through the wood.
“Mind, John, there’s a fallen tree here.”
“Thanks. Where? Oh, here. June, how sad it is going home.”