He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. Cathy threw Mike a look. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. I cannot live without you, Anna. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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