The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it.
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