Suddenly he pulled himself up into a sitting posture like her own. She was then aware that Mr. Sutcliffe had gone up the road behind them; he had lifted his hat and passed her without speaking.
"What does Sutcliffe talk to you about?"
"Farming."
"And what do you do?"
"Listen."
Below them, across the dale, they could see the square of Morfe on its platform.
"How long have you lived in that place?"
"Ten years. No; eleven."
"Women," he said, "are wonderful. I can't think where you come from. I knew your father, I know Dan and your mother, and Victor Olivier and your aunt—"
"Which aunt?"