CHAPTER XIX.
GHOSTS We have gone out together and aimlessly; we walk straight forward.
It is an autumnal day--gray lace of clouds and wind.

Some dried leaves lie on the ground and others go whirling.

We are in August, but it is an autumn day all the same.

Days do not allow themselves to be set in strict order, like men.
Our steps take us in the direction of the waterfall and the mill.

We have seldom been there again since our engagement days.