” He said. Happy Thanksgiving. She could feel her face turning beet red. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. “I want to be your friend,” he said. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room.
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