His eyes shot past her again. It was so obvious that the man had
to see his girl. For two hours though--not for four hours seven
minutes.

"Did you have any lunch?"

"I don't hold with regular meals."

"Did you have a book?"

"I don't hold with books in the open. None of the older men
read."

"Did you commune with yourself, or don't you hold with that?"

"Oh Lord, don't ask me!"

"You distress me. You rob the Pastoral of its lingering romance.
Is there no poetry and no thought in England? Is there no one, in
all these downs, who warbles with eager thought the Doric lay?"

"Chaps sing to themselves at times, if you mean that."

"I dream of Arcady. I open my eyes. Wiltshire. Of Amaryllis: Flea
Thompson's girl. Of the pensive shepherd, twitching his mantle
blue: you in an ulster. Aren't you sorry for me?"

"May I put in a pipe?"