She wore a large hat with
dyed feathers. She had black, untidy-looking hair, and her face was
red. One of the men made a noise with his lips as an accompaniment.
There was the little boy, too--a pasty-faced little boy with a curl on
his forehead, who cried because he had eaten too much. One of the men
sat some distance apart from the others and stared at you--stared at you
for quite a long time."
"I remember it perfectly," she declared. "It was last Whit-Monday.
Hateful people they were, all of them. But how did you know? I saw
nobody else pass by."
"I was there," he whispered.
"And I never saw you!" she exclaimed in wonder. "I remember those Bank
Holiday people, though, how abominable they were."
"You saw me," he insisted gently. "I was the one who sat apart and
stared."
"Of course you are talking rubbish!" she asserted, uneasily.
He shook his head.
"I was behind the banks--the banks of cloud, you know," he went on, a
little wistfully. "I think that that was one of the few moments in my
life when I peered out of my prison-house. I must have known what was
coming. I must have remembered afterwards--for I came here."
She looked at him doubtfully. Her eyes were very blue and he looked
into them steadfastly.
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