Take your pick, Mrs. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach.
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