I'll go with you. He had deliberately saved it for last. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. She tore open the envelope and read it. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “We can be alone?” She inquired. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him.
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