At half after five she was on her
way back to the court-house steps. Stupid to have made it six!
And then, of course, and quite as you would have it, Gerald Fishback
came along. She recognized his blondness long before he saw her. He was
bigger and more tanned, and, as of old, carried his hat in his hand. She
noticed that there were no creases down the front of his trousers, but
the tweed was good and he gave off that intangible aroma of well-being.
She was surprised at the old thrill racing over her. Seeing him was like
a stab of quick steel through the very pit of her being. She reached
out, touching him, before he saw her.
"Gerald," she said, soft and teasingly.
It was actually as if he had been waiting for that touch, because before
he could possibly have perceived her her name was on his lips.
"Hester!" he said, the blueness of his eyes flashing between blinks.
"Not Hester?"
"Yes, Hester," she said, smiling up at him.
He grasped both her hands, stammering for words that wanted to come
quicker than he could articulate.
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