She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. I don’t think they do matter. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; she was also young and physically beautiful—his lawful wife.
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