And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. . . It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. \"High Five, Lucy!\" Michelle exclaimed. Love lives on a higher plane. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between.
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