His voice now had lost its ironies. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. If you don’t like it, I won’t be mad, I promise. But she had loved the man.
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