gnificent weather going to last? I in my turn dissemble and scrutinize
the silent, motionless horizon.

Safe! Hypocrisy between us. He has found a suitable topic and exploits
it cleverly in jerky little phrases, rather sensual, like the kisses you
give a child. He points his three-cornered head at me and tosses back
his thick black mane.

He shuffles his feet. "Answer me," beg the glittering eyes. "Answer
me.... I am asking you a question...."

No, I don't want to answer. A word thrown out now and then with the
fervent assurance one always has under a desirous gaze; also the
defensive attitude men force upon you. I lean over and begin to pluck
the rich grass methodically, producing a fine, fresh scent and the dry,
peaceful sound of a browsing beast. Two bare spots in the velvety slope
and several light blades zigzagging in the wind....

Will he go?

He understands. His chest collapses like a pair of bellows and he draws
his two long legs together ostentatiously.

Why this tricky manoeuvring? Why thoughts unspoken? I am a part of the
tender landscape to him, and I realize he is looking at me tenderly. Why
not dare to make a pure, natural confession?

"Good-bye?"

"Good-bye."

I can't be irritated with this man; I haven't the courage to; the
weather is too lovely.

When you see the jolly morning frolicking on the road in cap-and-bells
and look over where the blue curve of paradise lovingly touches the
brown curve of the earth, all you feel is a warm indulgence.

It is too beautiful. The trees mingle their branches, the rays of
sunshine mingle their warmth, the birds mingle their songs. Down below,
the tide is coming in with the rush of clanking chains submerged by a
host of swift, frisky little waves....

And this man with the knavish eyes is nothing more than a black particle
blown by the wind to the end of this promontory where a few clustered
pines taper into the azure.

It is too beautiful. All you can do is close your eyes.

I close them--to shut out for a while the dazzle of the water in the
indigo basin, the thousand golden bubbles in its centre, the thousand
silver teeth biting at its edge. I don't want to think any more. All I
want to feel are the warm darts which pierce my hands resting on the
grass and the peculiar sense of well-being which takes the place of
everything else....

Have I really slept?... Sweetness, the sweetness of lips kissed by
breezes, a sweetness complete and overwhelming