They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. She was going through a new world with him side by side. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ’ The door opened and Saling entered again. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. “You are very good,” she said. But those days are over—quite over.
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