The natural beauty of the lime trees that lined the avenue where the wife of Maudlin"s illegitimate son once lived, was not reflected by the houses shadowed by their majestic spreading branches. We had taken the diversion simply to satisfy my curiosity, but it was not gratification that I found hidden there; only more unanswered frustrations. The sterile concrete forecourts that at one time, presumably, were complemented by those trees, now provided barren space on which row after row of vehicles were displayed. It was not a scene that I had imagined or had hoped for.
On very few occasions I had felt sorrow in my life. At Maudlin"s funeral was one time, when it was for others rather than myself, and at Phillip"s, when again, the full measure of that emotion escaped me. Nevertheless it was
