“Catch, then.”
“Not that I could bear to be married; especially like you, Vi!”
“A marriage like ours, dear, was so utterly unworthwhile....”
“I’m not sure, dear, that I comprehend altogether?”
“Seagulls’ wings as they fan one’s face....”
“It’s vile and wrong to shoot them: but oh! How I wish your happiness depended, even ever so little, on me.”
The Countess averted her eyes.
Waterfowl, like sadness passing, hovered, and soared overhead, casting their dark, fleeting shadows to the white, drowned clouds, in the receptive waters of the lake.
“I begin to wish I’d brought grapes,” she breathed.
“Heavy stodgy pears. So do I.”