I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. “You have forgotten. . . “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire.
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