ingatherself,shesawhereyeswerestillredandpuffy.Likeyesterdayaftertherain,assheexaminedherrefleshewassorryshedidnthaveanymakeup,thoughshedoubteditwouldhelpmuow.Shetriedpullingherhairbaoneside,triedbothsides,thenfinallygaveup.

    Shereachedforherpocketbook,ope,andonceagainlookedatthearticlethathadbroughtherhere.Somuchhadhappenedsihen;itwashardtobelieveithadbeenonlythreeweeks.Itfeltimpossibletoherthatshehadarrivedonlythedaybeforeyesterday.ItseemedlikealifetimesinceherdihNoah.

    Starlingschirpedireesarouhecloudshadbeguntobreakupnow,andAlliecouldseeblueiweenpatchesofwhite.Thesunwasstillshaded,butshekwouldoteroftime.Itwasgoingtobeabeautifulday.

    ItwasthekindofdayshewouldhavelikedtospendwithNoah,andasshewasthinkingabouthim,sherememberedthelettershermivenherandreachedforthem.

    Sheuhepacketandfoundthefirstletterhehadwrittenher.Shebegantoopenit,thenstoppedbecauseshecouldimagiwasinit.Somethingsimple,nodoubt-thingsheddone,memoriesofthesummer,perhapssomequestions.Afterall,heprobablyexpectedananswerfromher.Insteadshereachedforthelastletterhedwritten,theohebottomofthestack.Thegood-byeletter.Thisoerestedherfarmorethahers.Howhadhesaidit?Howwouldshehavesaidit?

    Theenvelopewasthin.One,maybetwopages.Whateverhehadwrittenwasnttoolong.

    First,sheturoverandcheckedthebae,justastreetaddressinNewJersey.Sheheldherbreathassheusedherfingernailtopryitopen.

    Unfoldingit,shesawitwasdatedMarch1935.

    Twoandahalfyearswithoutareply.

    Sheimaginedhimsittingatanold