He watched idly a small, fat man who moved with curious stealth along the perimeter of the dark yew trees. Far in the distance the sea was swollen and rough, and dotted with flecks of white. A cold wind came from the north, carrying with it a few small drops of rain. The little man had halted, and now stood motionless against the restless trees, staring fixedly across the headstones at the bedraggled groups of mourners. Stephen looked back to the grave. They were watching him, he tried to weep, but he had no tears. Beside him Alice sobbed, and that seemed ironic. She had hated the old man. He frightened her, or so she said.The ceremony ended and they moved away from the grave.—How do you feel? Alice asked. Are you all right?—Yes. Fine. I’m glad it’s over now.He put his arm around her shoulders as she stumbled through the thick damp grass. She had not even yet become accustomed to her pregnancy. The wind blew in the trees and rattled the branches as if they were hung with bones.
