He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. Your aunt liked the pheasant. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours.
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