"That's what I thought," he said. "I don't remember you before last year."
They came to a widening of the lane where an ancient tree stood alone, as if the rest of the trees had moved back to give it room, out of respect to its venerability.
He stopped her with his hand. "Wait, Margy."
The hand, warm on her elbow, was bad, and she wanted to shake it away, and she wanted to leave it there.
"Yes?" she said weakly.
"... Uh.... Let's talk," he said, taking the hand away.
"Talk?" she said, trying to gain time and marshal her thoughts.
Then there was laughter from behind them, along the lane they had followed.
"Two of the kids from school," Clyde said disappointedly; he turned to wave. "No. It's all right. I see their adult bands."
Shortly, the adults, nodding pleasantly with the confidence and understanding of hundreds of years, passed them and continued down the lane, looking no older than the two adolescents.