She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. Spurlock felt very well pleased with himself. Be kind to her. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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