Mary got up. "All right. I'll fetch it."
She opened the door and shut it again quickly.
"I can't go—yet."
III.
Friday, Saturday and Sunday passed, each with a separate, hurrying pace that quickened towards bed-time.
Mark's last night. She had left her door open so that she could hear him come upstairs. He came and sat on her bed as he used to do years ago when she was afraid of the ghost in the passage.
"I shan't be away for ever, Minky. Only five years."
"Yes, but you'll be twenty-six then, and I shall be nineteen. We shan't be ourselves."
"I shall be my self. Five years isn't really long."
"You—you'll like it, Mark. There'll be jungles with bisons and tigers."