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We camped out on the crest of the hill, upon a huge rug, soft and thick, the work of serfs in former days, representing an art now well-nigh lost, and feasted on nut-sweet crayfish from the Volga, new potatoes cooked in our gypsy kettle, curds, sour black bread, and other more conventional delicacies.
"You look stunned, Janet. Did you really think I wanted to marry Randall?" Janet was stunned, and she did think that. How could any girl not want to marry Randall Burnley if she had the chance? "Don't you love him?" she asked stupidly. Avery bit into a nut-sweet apple. "No," she said frankly. "Oh, I don't hate him, of course. I like him well enough. I like him very well.
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