She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. “Let me help you,” he begged. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her.
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