Then they came to the railings of Hyde Park, and trudged down the hill alongside them to Kensington Gardens. It was yet early in the afternoon. Adam pulled up.
"Come and look," he said. "It's autumn in there," and he went in at the Victoria gate, with Eve at his heels.
"Mister, how old might you be?" she asked, encouraged by the sound of his voice.
"Thirty."
"And you've passed ten years in—in there." She jerked her head back and shivered a little.
He had stooped to pick up a leaf. It was a yellow leaf from a chestnut that reached into the fog above them. He picked it slowly to pieces, drawing full draughts of air into his lungs. "Fifteen," he jerked out, "one time and another. 'Cumulated, you know." Pausing, he added, in a matter-of-fact voice, "What I've took would come to less 'n a pound's worth, altogether."
The Gardens were deserted, and the pair roamed towards the centre, gazing curiously at so much of sodden vegetation as the fog allowed
