'Ain't you had any food since then?"
"I haven't been so very hungry."
"Not hungry? You're sure past being hungry! Lucky we've got food with us
in the car. Pity we've got to hurry, but here's sandwiches and sandwiches,
and cakes and candy, and bits of bunstuff, and an apple. And here's a
cheese that's running out of its wrappin'. When's your show coming to
fetch you? 'Ain't you coming home along with us?"
"They won't be long now. Oh, you are good...." Fanny's hunger revived as
she took the food, and now she was waiting ungratefully for them to be
gone that she might start on her heavensent meal.
"Good-bye, ma'am," they cried together.
"Good-bye," she waved, and as their car passed onwards she climbed up on
to the mudguard and spread the rug over her knees.
The slow night grew out of nothing, expanded, and nearly enveloped the
slopes of the hill below. The wind dropped in the cloudy, heavy
twilight, and the papers of the sandwiches did no more than rustle upon
her knees. Not prepared yet to light her car lamps, Fanny laid her torch
upon her lap, and its patch of white light lit her hands and the piles
of bread, cake, and fancy buns.
Across the road in the deeper gloom that dyed the valley and spilt over
its banks, a head rustled in the ragged border of twig and reed, and
eyes watched the brightly-lighted meal which seemed to hang suspended
above the vague shape of the motor car.
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