She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. "Thank you," she said, and left the office. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. “You love some one else?” he repeated. She was very satisfied about this. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. She felt she had to go on. The latch had not fully caught.
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