“Hi! don’t go so fast.”
“But it’s so dangerous, dear.”
“Where are we now?”
“In the sunken bit. He has slowed down, that’s better. Dear boy, are you nearly enough wrapped up?”
Farther away, farther away. Everything had been leading up to this. The road went by with a swish, the rain made the surface so wet.
“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anythin’? There may be still time to go back.”
“I don’t think so.”
There was the dove-cote. They were leaving so much behind. How fast the man drove. What was the good? But it was tiresome forgettin’ John’s box like that. It would put the excess luggage out, they would have to make a new bill, and that would take time. It would be a rush. There was Mrs. Trench. She hadn’t seen them, they were travellin’ so fast. She was about to have another baby. There must be something in the family, it was the only way to account for all the Trench babies dying as soon just as they were born. It brought the average of infant mortality in the village so high.
“Where are we now?”