She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption.
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