He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. Disappointment flickered in Gerald’s chest, and he did not hesitate to speak his mind, unable to help a reproachful note. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack.
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