Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Suddenly she became worthy of attention again and her husband teased her and joked with her as Sebastian openly admired her beauty, teasing her and patting her shoulders, pulling off her headscarf. I went to the theatre that night. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. All he will say is that she said so—as if anyone could believe a word the girl said. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. It feels like it.
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