He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. Every one else does. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish.
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