"
But after a little silence the truth burst out, and he said with
despair: "Don't you want to know _anything_ about me?"
(Yes, that was all very well. She did, she did. But not just this that
was coming!)
And then he told her....
* * * * *
"What is she like ... Violette?"
"Fair."
After several low questions she seemed to stand between them like a
child, thin and fair, delicate and silent, innocently expecting to be
spared all pain.
"No, she doesn't go out very much. She stays indoors and does her hair,
and her nails, and reads a little book."
"And have you known her for a long time?"
"A long time...."
After this they pretended that she did not exist, and the little wraith
floated back to Paris from which she had come, suddenly, on days when
she had written him certain letters which had brought tears into
his eyes.
CHAPTER XI
THE LAST NIGHT IN METZ: THE JOURNEY
Fanny turned again to seek the lights of the town and the dagger points
of the churches that climbed against the sky upon the hill behind her,
but all that met her eyes was the blanket of wet darkness, and the
shimmer of the snowflakes under the lamps.
She slipped through the garage gates, touching the iron bars ... "almost
for the last time."
"But what does it matter? All towns are the same and we sing the same
song in each and wear the same coloured feathers.
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