Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Pretend to weep both of you as loudly as you can. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone.
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