This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. God, we suck. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. His face was downcast. “This is a charming place, and I have enjoyed the rest. I won't keep you long. Anna, do you not see that the Countess is sitting alone?” She rose, and flashed a quick smile upon Ennison behind her husband’s back.
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