\"I’ve never been to any of Lincoln’s dances. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed with perfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there was intent in her silence as to her destination. That window there….
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