“Yes, yes,” he laughed, rather uproariously. “I've got 'em everywhere, as thick as landmarks.”
“You seem to,” she said.
“I hope you're hungry,” he said.
“Not very,” she replied. “It's all so strange—this day, Claude. It's like a fairy story, coming here to Boston in the snow, and this place, and—and being with you.”
“You still love me?” he cried, getting up.
“You must know that I do,” she answered simply, raising her face to his. And he stood gazing down into it, with an odd expression she had never seen before.... “What's the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing—nothing,” he assured her, but continued to look at her. “You're so—so wonderful,” he whispered, “I just can't believe it.”
“And if it's hard for you,” she answered, “think what it must be for me!” And she smiled up at him.
Ditmar had known a moment of awe.... Suddenly he took her face between his hands and pressed his rough cheek against it, blindly. His hands trembled, his body was shaken, as by a spasm.
“Why, you're still cold, Claude!” she cried anxiously.