The sunset light was in her hair and in the gray, starry eyes she turned to me—those eyes that, because their lashes were so long and crinkled so maddeningly, were only half revealed. Her lips curved in a fleeting smile.
“Oh, you dear, blind, silly man! Do you think any girl could help loving you—after all that has happened to you and me?” she whispered.
Then I caught her to me; and despite my crutches and my bandaged head and that atrocious horn in the distance honking the signal for our parting, I was the happiest being in France—or in the world.
“I knew all along it was a dream, and it is! Such things don’t really happen. No such luck!” I cried.