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The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
99
The
dinner
lasted
a
good
hour
and
a
half,
and
at
the
end
of
that
time
they
would
begin
to
straggle
out
again,
flushed
and
using
toothpicks
as
they
strolled
to
the
tables
under
the
trees,
where
the
exhausted
waiters
would
presently
bring
them
breakfast-cups
of
coffee
and
cakes.
They
lingered
about
an
hour
over
this,
and
then
gradually
disappeared
to
their
rooms,
where
they
slept,
I
suppose,
for
from
then
till
about
six
a
death-like
stillness
reigned
in
the
place
and
April
and
I
had
it
all
to
ourselves.
Towards
six,
slow
couples
would
be
seen
crawling
along
the
path
by
the
shore
and
panting
up
into
the
woods,
this
being
the
only
exercise
of
the
day,
and
necessary
if
they
would
eat
their
suppers
with
appreciation;
and
April
and
I,
peering
through
the
bracken
out
of
the
nests
of
moss
we
used
to
make
in
the
afternoons,
could
see
them
coming
up
through
the
trees
after
the
climb
up
the
cliff,
the
husband
with
his
Havelock
over
his
arm,
a
little
in
front,
wiping
his
face
and
gasping,
the
wife
in
her
tight
silk
dress,
her
bonnet
strings
undone,
a
cloak
and
an
umbrella,
and
very
often
a
small
mysterious
basket
as
well
to
carry,
besides
holding
up
her
dress,
very
stout
and
very
uncomfortable
and
very
breathless,
panting
along
behind;
and
however
much
she
had
to
carry,
and
however
fat
and
helpless
she
was,
and
however
steep
the
hill,
and
however
much
dinner
she
had
eaten,
the
idea
that
her
husband
might
have
taken
her
cloak
and
her
umbrella
and
her
basket
and
carried
them
for
her
would
never
have
struck
either
of
them.
If
it
had
by
some
strange
chance
entered
his
head,
he
would
have
reasoned
that
he
was
as
stout
as
she
was,
that
he
had
eaten
as
much
dinner,
that
he
was
several
years
older,
and
that
it
was
her
cloak.
Logic
is
so
irresistible.
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