In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. They simply understood there was a greater need to get over the past than to talk about it. ” “But will you?” “YES. .
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