Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. ” “And in Paris——” “In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that —one did not take her seriously. That is all I ask. ” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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