THE RETURN OF THE SOLDIER
There’s a boat there . . . just like those other days. A punt . . . I always think of you in a punt, in your white dress, coming across from Monkey to take me over.
Margaret : It’s years since I used a punt now, Chris. I wonder if I could any more.
Chris : Of course you could. It’s not a thing you can forget. I must take you down to the pond. It’s raining to-day . . . you must come again. How is old Monkey Island? Do you ever go there now?
Margaret : William and I went down last September. William’s Mr. Grey . . . my husband.
Chris : You’re married, too. They told me so.
Margaret : Yes, ten years next June. I was a June bride.
Chris : You’ve no children?
Margaret (after a moment’s shadow across her face) : No.
Chris : Go on about Monkey. Did you leave there when you married?
Margaret : No . . . when dad died.
Chris : Is he dead? I’m sorry. I liked your father.
Margaret : Yes. He was kind, was dad. He liked you, too, Chris . . . but he never knew . . . about us. I’d never told him, I’ve never told anyone . . . till now.
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