She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. ’ ‘All the way to England?’ She opened wide eyes. And listen, John. I have an engagement with a theatrical agent—I believe for the ‘Unusual’.
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