‘Gérard, you are a great fool. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. "I'll admit that. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which I may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him.
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