June walks the gravel path between the back and front lawns, noting the damp soil and worms. She reaches the front gate and watches a Guardian washing the Commander’s black Whirlwind car. The Guardian, a French‑faced man with a cigarette, is identified by June as Nick, a low‑status household employee who lives over the garage and has never been assigned a woman. June reflects on his demeanor and wonders if his casualness is a test. She continues onto the red‑brick sidewalk, recalling Aunt Lydia’s lesson about waiting and seeds. At a corner she meets another Handmaid, Ofglen, a slightly plumper woman with brown eyes, red gloves and a demure walk. They exchange the ritual greeting “Blessed be the fruit…May the Lord open,” and walk together toward the town centre, a route allowed only in pairs for protection. Ofglen reveals she has been June’s partner for two weeks, replacing an unnamed predecessor. Their conversation drifts to the war: they mention the defeat of rebels called Baptists in the Blue Hills and a recent good weather report. June presses for more news, even if false. They arrive at a wooden barrier marked with yellow‑black stripes and a red stop sign, guarded by two young Guardians in green uniforms with berets and crossed‑sword crests. June recalls a recent incident where a Martha was mistakenly shot by Guardians, a story she heard from Rita and Cora. The Guardians salute, raise three fingers, and inspect the Handmaids’ passes. One guard with a peach‑coloured moustache leans to see June’s face, blushing at the brief eye contact. June feels a private thrill at the moment, imagining a secret defiance. After the pass is stamped, the guard opens the pedestrian gate and steps back. June and Ofglen pass through, aware of the young men’s watchful eyes, and June feels a mixture of shame and power in the knowledge that the guards are only able to touch them with looks. She reflects on the broader surveillance—black vans, floodlights, pillboxes—and the oppressive hierarchy that denies the Guardians any outlet for desire, concluding her walk with a lingering sense of both oppression and a small, private rebellion.