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In shape they were long, and slightly depressed at the
corners by the cheeks, and they had full, almost heavy, lids. The
features of the boy were small and straight, and gave no promise of
eventual coarseness. He was splendidly made. When Vere looked at him
she thought of an arrow. Yet he was very muscular, and before he dived
she had noticed that on his arms the biceps swelled up like smooth
balls of iron beneath the shining brown skin.
"What month were you born in?" she asked.
"Signorina, I believe I was born in March. I believe I was sixteen
last March."
"Then I am older than you are!"
This seemed to the boy a matter of indifference, though it was
evidently exercising the girl beside him. She had finished the dolce
now, and he was smoking the last fraction of an inch of the cigarette,
economically determined to waste none of it, even though he burnt his
fingers.
"Have another cigarette," Vere added, after a pause during which she
considered him carefully. "You can't get anything more out of that
one.


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