167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. ’ The lady shook her head, contriving at the same moment to utter a breathy little laugh. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. A girl—at my age—is grown-up.
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