“Rupert,” she said, bursting in on him. “I want to go away.”
He looked up at her slowly.
“Do you?” he replied mildly.
She sat by him und put her arms round his neck. It surprised her that he was so little surprised.
“Don’t you?” she asked troubled.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” he said. “But I’m sure I do.”
She sat up, suddenly erect.
“I hate it,” she said. “I hate the snow, and the unnaturalness of it, the unnatural light it throws on everybody, the ghastly glamour, the unnatural feelings it makes everybody have.”
He lay still and laughed, meditating.
“Well,” he said, “we can go away—we can go tomorrow. We’ll go tomorrow to Verona, and find Romeo and Juliet, and sit in the amphitheatre—shall we?”