The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. He had an objective now. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Promise me that you’ll contact the police if she ever calls you on the phone, or worse, shows up at your school. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. Free, there is nothing left to her but the canal.
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