Cambridge seemed an extraordinary flat and stupid place now that Frank was no longer within it.

Really there was nothing particular to do.

It had become almost a regular engagement for him to step round to the Great Court about eleven, and see what was to be done.

Sometimes Frank wanted lawn-tennis--sometimes a canoe on the Backs--at any rate, they would either lunch or dine together.

And if they didn't--well, at any rate, Frank was there! He tried to picture to himself what Frank was doing; he had visions of a sunlit road running across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the shade.