‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. I admired your chivalry. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. She despises one-piece swimsuits, she calls them ‘old hag bathing dresses’ no matter how low-cut they are.
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