And he was thinking that again.
Walking on soft leaf-mold he approached within twenty feet of her,
unheard. Then she lifted her head, looked about her.
"Bob!"
"Yes," he answered. He stopped. She was looking at him. She made an
imperative gesture, and when Hollister still stood like a man
transfixed, she came quickly to him, her eyes bright and eager, her
hands outstretched.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Aren't you glad to see me?"
"Are you glad to see me?" he countered. "_Do_ you see me?"
She shook her head.
"No, and probably I never shall," she said evenly. "But you're here,
and that's just as good. Things are still a blur. My eyes will never
be any better, I'm afraid."
Hollister drew her close to him. Her upturned lips sought his. Her
body pressed against him with a pleasant warmth, a confident yielding.
They stood silent a few seconds, Doris leaning against him
contentedly, Hollister struggling with the flood of mingled sensations
that swept through him on the heels of this vast relief.
"How your heart thumps," Doris laughed softly.
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