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seems as though I'm being pulled to far away places to search for her. That's why I came to Mexico. I'll always worship her in a strange, indefinable way, but I love you, Irene, though I'm not sure I can make you happy—because of her."
I looked at him. His eyes were shining with the faraway look I had often seen in them. He had wonderful eyes, black, deeply set under straight, heavy brows. His mouth was firm, his jaws strong, his nose finely chiselled. His hair grew in blond tight curls all over his head and gave him the look of a Rubens painting.
"I'm not afraid of dreams," I said boldly.
"It's almost as though she were real." Harvey, at least, was honest.
"But she isn't, and you do love me," I exclaimed triumphantly.
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