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. “And I’m not happy. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. “Your home is very. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. ” “Very sad—very sad indeed,” he remarked uneasily. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks.
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