modern landscape painting

the journey was continued with broken unemotional conversation on the commonplace objects by the wayside. He had quite forgotten his struggle to kiss her when, in the early summer, they had driven in the opposite direction along the same road. But she had not, and she sat now, like a puppet, replying to his remarks in monosyllables. After some miles they came in view of the clump of trees beyond which the village of Marlott stood. It was only then that her still face showed the least emotion, a tear or two beginning to trickle down. ¡¡¡¡`What are you crying for?' he coldly asked. ¡¡¡¡`I was only thinking that I was born over there,' murmured Tess. ¡¡¡¡`Well - we must all be born somewhere.' ¡¡¡¡`I wish I had never been born - there or anywhere else!' `Pooh! Well, if you didn't wish to come to Trantridge why did you come,'