But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. 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. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. ’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.
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