'You won't tell me where you will go?' he asked.
'Really and truly,' she said, 'I don't know. It depends which way the
wind blows.'
He looked at her quizzically, then he pursed up his lips, like
Zephyrus, blowing across the snow.
'It goes towards Germany,' he said.
'I believe so,' she laughed.
Suddenly, they were aware of a vague white figure near them. It was
Gerald. Gudrun's heart leapt in sudden terror, profound terror. She
rose to her feet.
'They told me where you were,' came Gerald's voice, like a judgment in
the whitish air of twilight.
'MARIA! You come like a ghost,' exclaimed Loerke.
Gerald did not answer. His presence was unnatural and ghostly to them.
Loerke shook the flask--then he held it inverted over the snow. Only a
few brown drops trickled out.
'All gone!' he said.
To Gerald, the smallish, odd figure of the German was distinct and
objective, as if seen through field glasses. And he disliked the small
figure exceedingly, he wanted it removed.
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