Hilary was waiting in Happiness, sitting on an old mossy stone by the spring that the years had never touched. Beside him sat a gay little dog with a hint of wistfulness behind his gaiety. McGinty felt something coming to him. something formless and chill. But as long as he was with his dear master what did it matter?
Hilary drew a quick breath: his eyes lit up slowly from within as was their way. She was coming to him over the field. a slip of a girl in a gold and orange sweater, the autumnal sunshine burnishing her dark-brown hair and glinting in her amber eyes; her face glowing with warm, ripe, KISSABLE tints, her body like a young sapling never to be broken, however it might bend.
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