“I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. I always told you some accident would happen. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. She looked steadfastly out. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. I am your first, of course you feel strongly. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved.
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