have mattered if it had been white. His love was changeless. Lifting her down from the niche, he told her so.
And as he spoke, her warm body melted to nothingness in his arms. The columns that had stood so hard and black against the quivering tide of moonlight and starlight seemed to totter and dissolve. He was lying in a hateful world where barbed-wire entanglements showed impish knots against a livid sky full of blooming noise and splashes of fire and wails for water, and his back was hurting intolerably.
Chris fell to blowing out the candles, and I, perhaps because the egotistical part of me was looking for something to say that would make him feel me devoted and intimate, could not speak.
Suddenly he desisted, stared at a candle-flame, and said:
"If you had seen the way she rested her cheek against the glass and looked into the
