Evidently she doesn't care for the house to be left even for half an
hour."
"Well, of course old people are apt to get nervous, you
know--especially when they're not well."
"Funny, isn't it?"
There was perfect unanimity between them as to the irrational
singularity and sad weakness of aged persons.
Louis remarked--
"She said you would make everything right for me upstairs."
"I have done--I hope," said Rachel.
"Thanks awfully!"
One part of the table was covered with newspaper. Suddenly Rachel
tore a strip off the newspaper, folded the strip into a spill, and,
lighting it at the gas, tendered it to Louis' unlit cigarette.
The climax of the movement was so quick and unexpected as almost to
astound Louis. For he had been standing behind her, and she had not
turned her head before making the spill. Perhaps there was a faint
reflection of himself in the window. Or perhaps she had eyes in her
hair. Beyond doubt she was a strange, rare, angelic girl. The gesture
with which she modestly offered the spill was angelic; it was divine;
it was one of those phenomena which persist in a man's memory for
decades. At the very instant of its happening he knew that he should
never forget it.
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