his weight; and this determined him finally to creep beneath it, for there was a point where the leaf curved high enough from the ground to admit him. He had just inserted his head in the opening and was taking stock of the high brown roof and was getting used to the cool brown light when two other people came past outside on the turf. This time they were both young, a young man and a young woman. They were both in the prime of youth, or even in that season which precedes the prime of youth, the season before the smooth pink folds of the flower have burst their gummy case, when the wings of the butterfly, though fully grown, are motionless in the sun.
“Lucky it isn’t Friday,” he observed.
“Why? D’you believe in luck?”
“They make you pay sixpence on Friday.”
“What’s sixpence anyway? Isn’t it worth sixpence?”
“What's ‘it’─what do you mean by ‘it’?”
