It's like a dream." He passed his hand over his eyes.
"France!" she heard herself saying. "But, Oliver, it's the work of
months."
He nodded happily.
"That's what it is."
"France!" she murmured in a kind of ecstasy. "I'm just getting it."
She clasped her hands together. "I've always wanted to be in France
with you. My dear, when do we start?"
He gave her a swift, bewildered look.
"Why, Myra, didn't you understand? I can't take you right away with
me. Later, of course, you'll join me. It won't be long, a few months
at most."
"I'm not to go when you go?"
Her voice, low and strained, drove straight to his heart.
"Myra, I never thought--it's a man's trip just now, darling.
I--couldn't take you with me," he stammered miserably. "Passports
are almost impossible to get; and then conditions over there----"
She backed away from him, her arms stiff at her sides.
"When were you--planning to go?"
He stared at her pitifully.
"Beloved, don't look at me that way!"
"When were you planning to go?" she repeated.
"Next week," he said in an altered voice. "I never thought you would
take it this way. I never thought--it's a great chance."
"That's what I once told you," she said slowly, and turned away that
he might not see her face.
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