Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. So, not exactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. You’re NOT to go.
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