Kennaston could not ever be sure; the broken dream remained an enigma; but he got sweet terror and happiness of the dream, for all that, tasting his moment of inexplicable poignant emotion: and therewith he was content.
VII
Treats of Witches, Mixed Drinks, and the Weather
MEANWHILE, I used to see Kennaston nearly every day.... Looking back, I recollect one afternoon when the Kennastons were calling on us. It was the usual sort of late-afternoon call customarily exchanged by country neighbors....
“We have been intending to come over for ever so long,” Mrs. Kennaston explained. “But we have been in such a rush, getting ready for the summer—”
“We only got the carpets up yesterday,” my wife assented. “Riggs just kept promising and promising, but he did finally get a man out—”
“Well, the roads are in pretty bad shape,” I suggested, “and those vans are fearfully heavy—”
“Still, if they would just be honest about it,” Mrs. Kennaston bewailed—“and not keep putting you off—No, I really don’t think I ever saw the Loop road in worse condition—”
“It’s the long rainy spell we ought to have had in May,” I informed her. “The seasons are changing so, though, nowadays that nobody can keep up with them.”
“Yes, Felix was saying only to-day that we seem no longer to have any real spring. We simply go straight from winter into summer.”