“They get on so slowly!” said Elaine with a sigh. “And when you do disentangle the meaning, it’s only what you know already.”
“What is it, exactly, that you are after?” asked Wilfred.
“Knowledge of life,” she said promptly. “Old people pretend that they have all the knowledge. I feel that they are wrong.”
“In what, for instance?”
“Well, it’s a platitude amongst old people that love always dies.”
“I don’t know of any book that would assure you that it doesn’t,” said Wilfred, lowering his eyes.
“Never mind books. What do you think? Does love die?”
“What kind of love?” he asked with a sinking heart.
“What kind?” she repeated staring. “I mean love between a man and a woman, of course.”
“Passion burns itself out,” said Wilfred, “but I suppose something fine may come of it.”