Drusilla, sitting on the doorstep of the stone house, saw a tall figure striding down the street. He stopped to speak to an old woman and doffed his hat, showing a clipped silver-blond head.
Drusilla went flying through the dusk. "Derry, Derry!"
He stared and stared again. "Is it you?" he asked. Nothing was vivid now about Drusilla except her hair.
"Yes."
He took her hands in his. "My dear girl." It was hard for either of them to speak.
"Did Bruce McKenzie tell you that my Captain has—gone West?"
"I had a letter. I haven't seen him. His hospital isn't far from here, I understand."
"Just outside. He—he has been a great help—to me, Derry."
She took him back to her doorstep and they sat down.
"Tell me about Jean."