"Red apples and snow!" he repeated. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. ” She went on, with a desperate attempt to be easy and colloquial: “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain.
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