The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. F. . . ” Annabel pulled up her veil. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. But you must tell her.
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