‘It would be good if we could all be here together.’
‘After the war, anyhow.’
‘Yes . . . after the war. . . .’
The train was going to start. The guard waved to all the waiting passengers to get in. Hugo jumped in quickly. He leaned out of the window and took both my hands.
‘Good-bye, Helen.’
‘Good-bye, Hugo . . . till next time. . . .’
The train jerked and puffed. A porter hurried along, slamming the doors. Hugo drew back his head, the train jerked again, and moved slowly forward.
I stood where I was, looking after the train. Hugo did not look out of it again, and I did not wave my hand.
I watched it drawing past me; carriage after carriage reaching the bend of the line where a station lamp threw a glittering light upon the windows; then out into the fog and darkness; and the smoke drifted back, chilly, mockingly, along the empty lines.
There were other women on the platform, walking back towards the barrier now, and I walked with them, dazed, hardly sensible, not knowing where I went.