“You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh.
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