She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. " "Perhaps so," rejoined the stranger; "but I have others in reserve, not so generally known. They blinded me.
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