She had very clear mental
pictures of everything she touched or felt, everything that came
within the scope of her understanding,--which covered no narrow field.
But Hollister never quite had the courage to ask her to describe what
image of him she carried in her mind.
For a month he did very little but go about with Doris, or sit quietly
reading a book in his room. March drew to a close. The southern border
of Stanley Park which faced the Gulf over English Bay continued to be
their haunt on every sunny afternoon, save once or twice when they
walked along Marine Drive to where the sands of the Spanish Bank lay
bared for a mile offshore at ebb tide.
If it rained, or a damp fog blew in from the sea, Hollister would pick
out a motion-picture house that afforded a good orchestra, or get
tickets to some available concert, or they would go and have tea at
the Granada where there was always music at the tea hour in the
afternoon. Doris loved music. Moreover she knew music, which is a
thing apart from merely loving melodious sounds. Once, at the place
where she was living, the home of a married cousin, Hollister heard
her play the piano for the first time.
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