Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. It is we who have become the parasites and toys. But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. She got to the driveway and was semi-surprised to see that his car was gone. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. He remained talking with her however.
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