She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. The boy’s besotted. And what a noise they made! This is how I used to call them. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. She looked steadfastly out. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way.
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