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They
sang
sweetly
and
quietly
,
arm
in
arm
,
not
looking
back
.
They
felt
the
hot
sidewalk
cooling
underfoot
,
moving
,
moving
.
"
Listen
!
"
said
Lavinia
.
They
listened
to
the
summer
night
.
The
summer
-
night
crickets
and
the
far
-
off
tone
of
the
courthouse
clock
making
I
it
eleven
forty
-
five
.
"
Listen
!
"
Lavinia
listened
.
A
porch
swing
creaked
in
the
dark
and
there
was
Mr
.
Terle
,
not
saying
anything
to
anybody
,
alone
on
his
swing
,
having
a
last
cigar
.
They
saw
the
pink
ash
swinging
gently
to
and
fro
.
Now
the
lights
were
going
,
going
,
gone
.
The
little
house
lights
and
big
house
lights
and
yellow
lights
and
green
hurricane
lights
,
the
candles
and
oil
lamps
and
porch
lights
,
and
everything
felt
locked
up
in
brass
and
iron
and
steel
,
everything
,
thought
Lavinia
,
is
boxed
and
locked
and
wrapped
and
shaded
.
She
imagined
the
people
in
their
moonlit
beds
.
And
their
breathing
in
the
summer
-
night
rooms
,
safe
and
together
.
And
here
we
are
,
thought
Lavinia
,
our
footsteps
on
along
the
baked
summer
evening
sidewalk
.
And
above
us
the
1
lonely
street
lights
shining
down
,
making
a
drunken
shadow
.
"
Here
’
s
your
house
,
Francine
.
Good
night
.
"
"
Lavinia
,
Helen
,
stay
here
tonight
.
It
’
s
late
,
almost
midnight
now
.
You
can
sleep
in
the
parlor
.
I
’
ll
make
hot
chocolate
—
it
’
ll
be
such
fun
!
"
Francine
was
holding
them
both
now
,
close
to
her
.
"
No
,
thanks
,
"
said
Lavinia
.
And
Francine
began
to
cry
.
