They walked two by two to the car, looking the part of 267 two weary spouses supporting their drunken mates after an all-night bender. "You won't refuse it, Mr. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry.
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