The gold had been
their reward--a reward well earned, she thought. Still--they had been
wonderfully happy there at the Pine River cabin, she remembered.
They came home from a theater party late one night. Bill sat down by
their bedroom window, and stared out at the street lights, twin rows of
yellow beads stretching away to a vanishing point in the pitch-black of
a cloudy night. Hazel kicked off her slippers, and gratefully toasted
her silk-stockinged feet at a small coal grate. Fall had come, and
there was a sharp nip to the air.
"Well, what do you think of it as far as you've gone?" he asked
abruptly.
"Of what?" she asked, jarred out of meditation upon the play they had
just witnessed.
"All this." He waved a hand comprehensively. "This giddy swim we've
got into."
"I think it's fine," she candidly admitted. "I'm enjoying myself. I
like it. Don't you?"
"As a diversion," he observed thoughtfully, "I don't mind it. These
people are all very affable and pleasant, and they've rather gone out
of their way to entertain us. But, after all, what the dickens does it
amount to? They spend their whole life running in useless circles. I
should think they'd get sick of it.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315