“No, I’m not coming any farther,” said Beryl.
“Oh, rot!” Harry Kember didn’t believe her. “Come along! We’ll just go as far as that fuchsia bush. Come along!”
The fuchsia bush was tall. It fell over the fence in a shower. There was a little pit of darkness beneath.
“No, really, I don’t want to,” said Beryl.
For a moment Harry Kember didn’t answer. Then he came close to her, turned to her, smiled and said quickly, “Don’t be silly! Don’t be silly!”
His smile was something she’d never seen before. Was he drunk? That bright, blind, terrifying smile froze her with horror. What was she doing? How had she got here? The stern garden asked her as the gate pushed open, and quick as a cat Harry Kember came through and snatched her to him.
“Cold little devil! Cold little devil!” said the hateful voice.
But Beryl was strong. She slipped, ducked, wrenched free.
“You are vile, vile,” said she.
“Then why in God’s name did you come?” stammered Harry Kember.
Nobody answered him.
