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           You’retheprettyone!"

           Andsotheywalked,theydriftedlikethreeprimclothesformsoveramoonlitseaoflawnandconcrete,LaviniawatchingtheblacktreesBitbyeachsideofher,listeningtothevoicesofherfriendsmurmuring,tryingtolaugh;andthenightseemedtoquicken,theyseemedtorunwhilewalkingslowly,everythingseemedfastandthecolorofhotsnow.

           "Let’ssing,"saidLavinia.

           Theysang,"ShineOn,ShineOn,HarvestMoon..."

           Theysangsweetlyandquietly,arminarm,notlookingback.Theyfeltthehotsidewalkcoolingunderfoot,moving,moving.

           "Listen!"saidLavinia.

           Theylistenedtothesummernight.Thesummer-nightcricketsandthefar-offtoneofthecourthouseclockmakingIitelevenforty-five.

           "Listen!"

           Lavinialistened.AporchswingcreakedinthedarkandtherewasMr.Terle,notsayinganythingtoanybody,aloneonhisswing,havingalastcigar.Theysawthepinkashswinginggentlytoandfro.

           Nowthelightsweregoing,going,gone.Thelittlehouselightsandbighouselightsandyellowlightsandgreenhurricanelights,thecandlesandoillampsandporchlights,andeverythingfeltlockedupinbrassandironandsteel,everything,thoughtLavinia,isboxedandlockedandwrappedandshaded.Sheimaginedthepeopleintheirmoonlitbeds.Andtheirbreathinginthesummer-nightrooms,safeandtogether.Andhereweare,thoughtLavinia,ourfootstepsonalongthebakedsummereveningsidewalk.Andaboveusthe1lonelystreetlightsshiningdown,makingadrunkenshadow.

           "Here’syourhouse,Francine.