She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. So they fenced with smiles. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. “Want to see the computer?” He asked eagerly. She stepped into his arms.
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