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Updated: June 2, 2025
You see, I was quite sure that you would go past one of these days to have a look at it, and that you would say to yourself: 'Why, there's Francey, after all! I'll go in " But they both drew back instinctively. He blundered into a hurried question. The Gang? What had happened to them all?
For a moment they hesitated like travellers on the verge of unknown country; then Francey crossed over to the iron-palinged garden and they walked on side by side under the trees that rattled their grimy, fleshless limbs in an eerie dance. There was no one else stirring. The eyes of the stately Georgian houses were already closed in the weariness of their sad old age. But she asked no questions.
They laughed and took hands again a little shyly, like lovers who had been parted for a long time. "What rot our quarrelling over nothing at all," Robert said, "when we've only got this hour together. I wanted to say 'I love you, Francey I love you, dear' over and over again. Say 'I love you too, Robert." "I love you too," she answered soberly.
He wanted to bend closer to her and say, very quietly, as though he were suggesting an order, "What about your handkerchief? Do you want it back, Francey?" Amidst his austerely disciplined thoughts the impulse was like a mad, freakish intruder, and it frightened him, so that he drew back sharply. "Cider-cup," she said. "It's my feast and I like seeing the fruit and pretending I can taste it.
He leant over the creaking banisters, trying to see her. "Francey you duffer you haven't even told me where to meet you." He held his breath. Her voice had sounded like that of a spirit laughing out of the black veil beneath. It did not come again. He could not even hear her footsteps. She had vanished. But he waited, trembling before the wonder of his own impulse.
Connie Edwards patted his head. She winked at Francey, but Francey was looking at Robert's sullen back. "No, you wouldn't. Not for six months or so, anyhow." He laughed shamefacedly. "Oh, well, of course I'm rotting. I can't drive a go-cart. Never had the chance. Oh, I say, Robert, don't grouch. I didn't mean to be rude. Of course, you're right in a way.
"I do I do!" she interrupted hurriedly. "I've seen Christine and the way you live and that dreadful cupboard. Oh, I'm not sorry for you only afraid. You're nothing but a boy " "You needn't be afraid. I'll pull through. It's only another year now. But I can't be like the other people you know who can be jolly and easy-going because they're not going anywhere at all. Can't you be patient, Francey?"
"And we're going to a hill that I know of," Francey was saying. "No one else knows of it. In fact, it's only there when I am. You go by train, and after that you have to walk. I don't know the way. It comes by inspiration. When you get to the top you can see the whole of England, and there are always flowers. I'm taking Howard's gang, and you people must come along too. It's what you want.
He stammered and was shy and distrustful and eager, sometimes crudely self-confident, like a child who has played alone too long. And Francey listened, for the most part critical and dispassionate, but with sudden gestures of unmotivated tenderness: as when in the midst of his dissertation on a theory of insanity and crime she had kissed him.
We'll wait at the corner of John Street and jump out at her and shriek like Red Indians. And then she'll drop dead with fright. She's such a silly beast " Then to his amazement he saw that Francey had grown quite white. Her mouth quivered. It was as though she were going to cry. And he had never seen her cry. "They they aren't coming, Robert." "N-not coming? W-why not?" "There's been a row.
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