She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Your husband could have told you that. She slipped her hand between them and grasped his erection. "Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands.
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