She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. It could not be a legal marriage. The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. He stepped back further. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone.
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