And an elderly man with a bizarre sense of humour said: “You look out for yerself, my gal; ’e won’t ’ave no money ter marry you on w’en ’e’s pide ’is fines.” George caught the sally, and the whole phantasmagoria of the police-court flashed across his mind. Also the fact that this trip to Cambridge was likely to leave him with very little, if any money at all.... § 13 And now, on the slope leading up to the railway station, George was distressed. He was physically and mentally unmanned. He could not speak without a tremor. He seemed so physically enfeebled that she took his arm and asked him to lean on her. All at once she realized the extraordinary fact that of the two she was infinitely the stronger. With all his self-confidence and arrogance and aplomb, he was nothing but a pathetic weakling. The hostility of the crowd had made her vaguely sympathetic with him. She had watched him being browbeaten by policemen and by the owner of the cart, and a strange protective instinct surged up in her. She wanted to stick up for him, to plant herself definitely on his side. She felt she was bound to champion him in adversity. She thought: “I’m with him, and I must look after him. He’s my man, and I’ve got to protect him.” All the long walk to the station was saturated in this atmosphere of tense sympathy and anxious protection. “We shall catch the 10.20,” he said. “There’s heaps of time. We shall have over an hour to wait.” “That’ll be all right,” she said comprehensively. On the station platform they paced up and down many times in absolute silence. The moon was gorgeously radiant, flinging the goods yard opposite into blotches of light and shadow. The red lamps of the signals quavered ineffectually. “You know it’s awfully lucky you weren’t hurt,” he said at last. She nodded. Pause. Then he broke out: “You know, really, I’m most awfully sorry----” “Oh, don’t bother about that,” she said lightly. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t help it.” (Yet she knew it was his fault, and that he could have helped it. She also knew that he had no licence.) And then a strange thing happened. They were in the shadow of a doorway. He suddenly put his two arms on her shoulders and kissed her passionately on the lips. Her hair was blowing behind her like a trail of flame. He kissed her again with deepening intensity. And then her face, upturned to his, dropped convulsively forward. Her eyes were closed with a great mist, and her hair fell over his hands and hid them from view. There was something terrible in the fierceness with which he bent down and, because he could not kiss her face, kissed her fire-burnished hair. And as he did so again and again she began to cry very softly. His hands could feel the sobs which shook her frame. And he was thrilled, electrified.... “My God!” he whispered....