Sometimes she came alone.

What a long time ago that seems!" Duncombe's grip upon his arm tightened.
"Andrew," he said, "I can't go!" There was a short silence.

Andrew stood quite still.

All around them was the soft weeping of dripping shrubs.

An odorous whiff from the walled rose-garden floated down the air.
"I'm sorry, George! It's a lot to ask you, I know." "It isn't that!" Andrew turned his head toward his friend.