That is what I want to tell you about: the girls with their short skirts and bright eyes and big-city dreams. The girls of 1929.

A man is made in the rough-and-tumble of the world a lady emerges from the flossy back rooms of her own imagination.

Things only looked wrong when there was someone to see you.

She was full of some strange energy that morning. Her every movement had purpose and life and she seemed to find satisfaction in every little thing.

He was a mystery to her, and every time she tried to solve him it caused her a little more pain. But when she tired to give him up he pursued her in her thoughts, stronger each time.

Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.

Girls," their mother interjected, "you must both stop being strange - it is unattractive. And don't forget your hats. It would be absolutely the end for me if you two came down with freckles at a time like this.