There was a stile in the dusty hedge-row, and he walked toward it, meditating.
In a moment he looked back at me.

"I had forgotten," he said; "I meant to suggest that we should wait here--I am a little tired." He perched himself on the top bar and became lost in the inspection of the cord of his glasses.

I went toward him.
"I knew," I said, "that you could not listen to ...

to the sort of thing.

But there were reasons.