“Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. ” He looked at her gravely. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. They showered together. CHAPTER XIII. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked.
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