They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up.
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