Any tall man in civilian clothes set her heart beating faster. She
was quite honest with herself; she knew that she was watching for
Clay, and she had a magnificent shamelessness in her quest. And now
at last The Daily Mail had announced his arrival in France, and at
first every ring of her telephone had sent her to it, somewhat
breathless but quite confident. He would, she considered, call up
the Red Cross at the Hotel Regina, and they would, by her
instructions, give her hotel.
Then, on that Monday morning, which was the eleventh, she realized
that he would not call her up. She knew it suddenly and absolutely.
She sat down, when the knowledge came to her, with a sickening
feeling that if he did not come to her now he never would come. Yet
even then she did not doubt that he cared. Cared as desperately as
she did. The bond still held.
She tried very hard, sitting there by her wood fire in the orderly
uniform which made her so quaintly young and boyish, to understand
the twisted mental processes that kept him away from her, now that
he was free.
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