He hurried his companion down the great silent nave and out of the open doorway. He felt much more vexed and perturbed than the occasion warranted. The meaningless sparkles from that tricky coffin-lid danced like imps across the back of his eye-sockets.

“I suppose it’s too late to go over there now?” he said, turning to her with his hat in one hand and his stick in the other, and a wavering helplessness emanating from his whole figure.

“Not at all, boy⁠—not at all!” pronounced Miss Gault. “Emma must keep supper waiting for us for once. You’ll have time for a bite anyway before you catch that train. Come along! You don’t know how fast I can walk.”

Wolf put on his hat and strode by her side in silence. The air began to smell of rain by the time they reached the slaughterhouse. There was a figure with a lantern moving about in the yard of the shed; and Miss Gault dragged heavily on his arm as they went past, struggling with the rising wind.