He had chosen his time well. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. Killed is too kind a word. ” She turned away. "I've counted ten coffins so far.
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