His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. ’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand. "She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. "Miss Thornhill's a charming girl.
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