In a way, without losing her distinction, she had
become evident; another woman, one less admirably balanced, would have
been conspicuous. Havana was like a, stage on which Savina--with a
considered bravado they had kept the Randon--tried with intoxicating
success a part she had long and secretly desired.
* * * * *
What, Lee found, he most enjoyed was the personal liberty he had first
experienced in New York, waiting to see Savina after he had definitely
left Eastlake. All the aspects of his circumferential existence,
island-like in the dividing indigo of a magic sea, pleased him equally.
Of course, without Savina Cuba would have been an impossibility; she
was the center, the motive, of the design of his emotions; but it was
surprising how contented he was strolling in the outskirts, in the
minor parks and glorietas and paseos, of the world of his passionate
adventure. He sat placidly in the Cortina de Valdez, looking across the
narrow water to the long pink wall of the Cabanas, while Savina drove
and shopped and rested. Carefully avoiding the Americans at the
Inglaterra, on the streets, he had no burden of empty mutual
assurances, the forced stupidities of conversations, to support. His
days all had the look of a period of rest after a strain of long
duration.
The strain, he realized, unknown to him at the time, had existed
negatively through years before he had grown openly rebellious.
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