Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. “The walk has given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till five o’clock.
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