‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. At last—I told a story. \" Lucy winced. 176 “No, it’s very good. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. How plainly he could see the patch of garden in the summer sunshine and the white hollyhocks nodding above the picket fence! ***** Ruth sat waiting for the half hour, subconsciously. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. .
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