‘Possibly,’ he said. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. Wild has done his business. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. The new and the old cancelled out; his daughters became quasi-independent dependents—which is absurd.
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