He passed through Chapel Green and Mainstone, dead villages both. Not a light in their windows. As dead as Wolfpits. The poplar under which he had trysted with Susie hung above him. The moonlight broke in ripples on its lofty crown. He saw nothing at all, heard nothing but the steady rhythm of his feet and the monotonous burden of words in his brain. The moon sank. Now the road was only faintly luminous with the reflected pallor of the sky. He heard a new noise behind him, and the lamps of a motor-car swept a slanting beam that carried his shadow into the hedge. The noise of the engine became distinct. A top-heavy van loomed up above the two blinding eyes of the headlights. He stood aside to let it pass; but as its roar overtook him, his own voice gave a hail that was swept along in the draught. He did not know why he had shouted, but a second later the car pulled up with grinding brakes, striking sparks of fire from the road. He ran after it. ‘What’s up?’ the driver called. It was a man whom Abner had sometimes met at Llandwlas station when he was driving the milk from The Dyke. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ he said. ‘Want a lift?’ Abner caught him up and climbed into the seat next his. They set off again, whirling like a tornado through the darkness. They could only speak to each other by shouting, for the engine was old and full of rattles, and the milk-pails jangled behind. ‘Drop you Lesswardine Bridge?’ the driver shouted. ‘Drop me in hell if you like,’ Abner replied. ‘What about Shrewsbury to be going on with?’ ‘That’ll do me!’ The roar and vibration filled Abner’s aching brain. They turned northward at Craven Arms and plunged on between the rising masses of the Mynd and Caer Caradoc. The hotels of Church Stretton burned like a constellation in the darkness on their left. The lights of Shrewsbury appeared. ‘That’s good going, bain’t it?’ said the driver, with a laugh. He refused the drink that Abner offered him and set him down in the outskirts of the city. Abner’s head was splitting. He staggered into a pub and drank three double whiskies straight off. What was there for a man to do but drink? He passed into the main streets of the town. After the silence and darkness of Wolfpits it seemed to him a city of palaces sparkling with light. He moved in a dazed manner through the streets; had another drink, and began to feel better. For the first time since he had set out he felt capable of a determination. He resolved, as far as his money would let him, to get drunk.