Only a book detective could dope this out. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. And you will. I tell you once more, I'll say and do nothing to get you into trouble. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated.
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