He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. He sent me flowers.
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