After five minutes, Cherrylyn was able to stand up.

But she did not risk getting on her bicycle, so they wheeled them away through the wood.

The food they left abandoned on the grass, on the oilcloth, and presently the birds came gladly and ate it for them.

There had been no plan. The car took them to a great station of hard cement, where colorful shops in glass cubes offered chocolates and books, scarves and roses, and tables stood out on the concourse under bright umbrellas that were not needed, for in here, the rain did not fall.

A train was leaving for the north in sixteen minutes.

Stella and Ruth went into the booking hall and Stella bought two tickets for the first-class section.

Then they walked to the train and boarded it. Stella and Ruth, with only Stella's small bag.

The train moved. It moved away. Setting out into the rain and the wide skies beyond the city.

At first there were factories and little houses and churchyards and huge yards full of lorries.

Stella and Ruth, sitting facing each other on the an-timacassared seats, both looked at these.

Then, like the past, the edges of the city dimmed and went behind. The dark fields opened, lined by leafless, mourning trees.

Stella uncrossed her legs and the smart boots hissed.

"Shall we have a drink?"

Ruth turned. "Yes, that would be nice."

"You'd better understand," said Stella, "I've got a cast-iron head. I'm not going to lose my grip. It won't make any difference."

"No, I know that."

The man came from the buffet just after that, and Stella lavishly tipped him and told him what was wanted.

When he next appeared he brought a bottle of vodka, glasses, ice, and real lemons.

After he had gone again, Stella made the drinks.

They drank in silence for about an hour.

Stella could see Ruth was like her in the matter of being a sound drinker. She did not change.

And Stella thought for a second how she had got tiddly with her mother at Christmas, and how it had been infectious, that. And maybe this was too, this cold.

The landscape went by.

"Look," said Ruth suddenly, "there are cows."

As if she had never seen them. Perhaps she never had.

"We'll have something to eat later on," said Stella. "I don't know yet where we'll get out."

"We may just see somewhere," said Ruth, "that looks like the place."

We're on honeymoon, Stella thought.

We're at one.

Darkness began to come, the impersonal darkness of winter night. Although maybe it was spring.

"I want to tell you," Stella said, "about the man you killed."

She was not drunk. She could see and function exactly. Her hands were coordinated, her brain clear. But yes, the drink had made her want to speak. Or Ruth had. Confession.

But Ruth said, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure which man you mean."