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1
137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
137
"But
am
I
not?"
he
asked,
putting
his
arm
round
me
and
looking
affectionate;
and
when
people
begin
to
look
affectionate
I,
for
one,
cease
to
take
any
further
interest
in
them.
And
so
the
Man
of
Wrath
and
I
fade
away
into
dimness
and
muteness,
my
head
resting
on
his
shoulder,
and
his
arm
encircling
my
waist;
and
what
could
possibly
be
more
proper,
more
praiseworthy,
or
more
picturesque?
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