transparent sea of green, the ultimate luminous primrose dissolving into
violet powder and then the cold biting night lit up by strange patches
of colour that have somehow been forgotten in the sky.

Eve was walking home, her quick, defiant movements challenging the
evening, her head bent slightly forward, her chin almost touching her
muff, while her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed and her lithe figure
seemed almost to be cutting through the icy air.

"This is happiness," she thought exultantly, "this bitter winter
stimulus--I feel so light--as if my heart and mind were empty--only my
body is quivering with life--the pure life of physical fitness. Why
think, or feel, or look forward?" She doubled her pace until her feet
seemed to be skimming the road. "I feel like a duck and drake," she
laughed to herself. "Nothing matters, nothing, while there is still
frost in the world."

And then she saw a little motor waiting on the other side of the road.
She stopped dead and her heart stopped with her.

"There is no reason why it should be his. Hundreds of people have motors
like that."

Resolutely she took a step forward. "I can't see from here, and I won't
go and look," she added as she crossed over.

And then, shutting her eyes:

"Jerry," she said to herself, trying to kill his ghost with his name.