into the porch.

Two men were seated in the cool tap-room, each with a pasty and a mug
of beer. A composition of sweat and coal-dust had caked their faces,
and so deftly smoothed all distinction out of their features that
it seemed at the moment natural and proper to take them for twins.
Perhaps this was an error: perhaps, too, their appearance of extreme
age was produced by the dark grey dust that overlaid so much of them
as showed above the table. As twins, however, I remember them, and
cannot shake off the impression that they had remained twins for an
unusual number of years.

One addressed me. "Parties outside pretty comfortable?" he asked.

"They were drinking out of the same cup," I answered.

He nodded. "Made man and wife this mornin'. I don't fairly know
what's best to do. Lord knows I wouldn' hurry their soft looks and
dilly-dallyin'; but did 'ee notice how much beverage was left in the
cup?"

"They was mated at Tregarrick, half-after-nine this mornin'," observed
the other twin, pulling out a great watch, "and we brought 'em
down here in a truck for their honeymoon. The agreement was for an
afternoon in the woods; but by crum! sir, they've sat there and held
one another's hand for up'ards of an hour after the stated time to
start. And we ha'nt the heart to tell 'em so."

He walked across to the window and peered over the blind.