She slipped her arm through his.It was warm and solid.His sleeve,lying against her own,was good blue twill.He moved off,and she,laughing nervously,was drawn after him,off the drive and onto the grass plait;she saw them as others would see them now,their figures jaunty and almost comically ill-matched:the bulk of him in his good blue greatcoat,her slight figure in wilted linsey-woolsey,tagging along,a faint wisp of tobacco smoke following after them.