“So, when you’re old and I am still young, we shall be about the same age.”
She laughed:
“What a calculation! No, you’re older. But age doesn’t go by years.”
“No. I sometimes have very young wishes. Do you know what I have been longing for since yesterday, like a baby, like a boy?”
“No.”
“A motor-car.”
She laughed, with a laugh like little tinkling bells:
“A motor-car?”
“Wouldn’t it be delightful? To go tearing and tearing over fields and roads, through clouds of dust....”
“You’re becoming poetic!”