Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory.
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