She thought, How nice his face is – nice and funny – and, yes, comforting.
They drove on. They came at last to a gateway and a drive that wound upward till it reached a quiet white house on the side of a hill.
He said, 'You'll be quite safe here. No one will bother you.'
Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. She said, 'You – you'll come and see me?'
'Of course.'
'Often?'
Peter Lord said, 'As often as you want me.
She said, 'Please come – very often.'
Вы читаете Sad Cypress
