"So that's why you were eating alone! Then they won't be back tonight?"
"Not tonight ... I guess they'll phone again."
"Swell ... gee, it's our place."
He kissed her, with a long, seductive kiss, easing her against the cushions, her breasts swelling: not since London ... tonight ... tonight ...
"My god, the months!" he blurted.
"I'd almost given up."
"So had I!"
"Your letters ... you don't say much."
"Or you ... Wasn't that the telephone?"
She was playing with the ring he had bought her in London: her fingers slid the crudely faceted amethyst round and round: her mind followed it; then she sought his mouth.