’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. His hand flew across the paper. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. My Mom and Dad were on the brink of divorce, what else is new, they still are. ” He said. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other.
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