"You're the sort of girl to get into a man's blood; to make him mad, reckless, head over ears—"
"Hadn't we better go on?" she asked.
"Why—why?"
She had not thought him capable of such earnestness.
"Because I wish it, and because this churchyard is enough to give one the blues."
"I love it, now I'm talking to you."
"Love it?" she echoed.
"First of all, you in your youth, and—and your attractiveness—are such a contrast to everything about us. It emphasises you and—and—it tells me to snatch all the happiness one can, before the very little while when we are as they."
Here he pointed to the crowded graves.
"I'm going home," declared Mavis.