” She raked into the fire with the poker. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. ” She replied. But it was only six-thirty. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods.
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