CHAPTER XXXVJean hurried through the damp lanes, dark with rain-soaked leaves, and across a pallid stretch of moor. The heavy clouds pressed the last light out of the sky; the beech trees closed over her head like a dark curtain. Every now and then a rigid brown leaf detached itself and slid noiselessly through the still air.
In the open spaces of the Park, smoke rose from burning leaves in columns of blue mist. The azure smoke reminded Jean of the bluebells which grew in spring under the beech trees. Her mind was full of broken images, and haunted by a panic fear. She was going to tea with the children for the last time; no one else would be there. Beatrice, Ian, and Reggie had gone off cub-hunting, to a distant meet, and no one knew it was good-bye but Jean. She wanted to slip away as l
