“Thank you. Let’s get out of this crowd.” She looked about her. She pointed to a corner of the room, an alcove containing a window. “Let’s go over there.” They walked through the crowd and sat down on the love seat beneath the window.
“You’re surprised, aren’t you?” She spoke softly.
“A little, I guess. I don’t know. I have to get used to the idea. I always associated you with ... with Florence and....”
“You felt that was behind you?”
He was surprised. She must have known him very well, he thought suddenly; he had forgotten how well she had known him. “No, I didn’t think that,” he lied.
“I have very warm memories,” she said lightly.
He blushed and hated himself but there was nothing he could do or say that would make it better. “Mine were pleasant, too. I ... I liked Florence quite a bit.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did, and you liked Fiesole, and the nights and summer days. I suppose you liked them all.”
“I liked them all.”
“And that was what you liked, all that you can remember?”