’ Gerald turned and came back to her. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. He reached over and took her hand. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. Me, I have a question for you first. His manner was deferential, even eager. “Both. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II.
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