His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. “It’s like the Picture and the Bust.
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