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He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. " "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion. The simile started a laugh in his throat. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. Then she came a few steps to meet him. He was all alone, like herself. I can be that man, the one I know you want. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. .
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