His glistening, whitish hair seemed like the
electricity of the sky.
'There's Gudrun,' came Hermione's voice floating distinct over the
water. 'We will go and speak to her. Do you mind?'
Gerald looked round and saw the girl standing by the water's edge,
looking at him. He pulled the boat towards her, magnetically, without
thinking of her. In his world, his conscious world, she was still
nobody. He knew that Hermione had a curious pleasure in treading down
all the social differences, at least apparently, and he left it to her.
'How do you do, Gudrun?' sang Hermione, using the Christian name in the
fashionable manner. 'What are you doing?'
'How do you do, Hermione? I WAS sketching.'
'Were you?' The boat drifted nearer, till the keel ground on the bank.
'May we see? I should like to SO much.'
It was no use resisting Hermione's deliberate intention.
'Well--' said Gudrun reluctantly, for she always hated to have her
unfinished work exposed--'there's nothing in the least interesting.
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