They two had drunk of the same cup . She remembered idly that an old aunt of hers used to say that when two people did this their after-lives would be linked in some fashion , whether for good or ill . John Meredith held the cup uncertainly . He did not know what to do with it . The logical thing would have been to toss it away , but somehow he was disinclined to do this . Rosemary held out her hand for it . `` Will you let me have it ? '' she said . `` You made it so knackily . I never saw anyone make a birch cup so since my little brother used to make them long ago -- before he died . '' `` I learned how to make them when I was a boy , camping out one summer . An old hunter taught me , '' said Mr. Meredith . `` Let me carry your books , Miss West . '' Rosemary was startled into another fib and said oh , they were not heavy . But the minister took them from her with quite a masterful air and they walked away together . It was the first time Rosemary had stood by the valley spring without thinking of Martin Crawford . The mystic tryst had been broken . The little by-path wound around the marsh and then struck up the long wooded hill on the top of which Rosemary lived . Beyond , through the trees , they could see the moonlight shining across the level summer fields . But the little path was shadowy and narrow .
Trees crowded over it , and trees are never quite as friendly XXXXX human beings after nightfall as they are in daylight .
across around before from of on that through to with