The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. But she was not there. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.
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