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Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. Go on and tell me. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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