She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. I put my foot down like—like adamant. Did you know you’re very maternal? Damn, you’re more maternal than my Mom. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read.
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