There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. ” “He said, ‘Poor Alice has got no end!’” “Alice’s are different,” said Ann Veronica, after an interval. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Ann Veronica blushed.
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