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But the moment he had been planning, counting on for days--weeks, if it
came to that--with an excitement he couldn't deny, a tensity that had
increased as the prospect of it drew nearer, was not exciting nor tense
for her. If anything, she'd relaxed a little, as if the big moment of
her day had passed--or, postponed by this affair of his, were still to
come. Once or twice when her gaze detached itself from him and rested
unfocused on the other side of the room, he saw little changes of
expression go over her face that didn't relate to him at all. He simply
wasn't in focus, that was the size of it. He had never seen her look
lovelier, more completely desirable than she did right now, dressed as
she was in her very simple street clothes and relaxed by the surrounding
quiet and comfort and her own fatigue. And yet, all alone with him as
she had so confidingly permitted herself to be, and near enough to reach
with the bare stretching out of a hand, she'd never been further away
nor seemed more unattainable.


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