She wasn’t tired, she was entranced, and he drove home with her, across the lawns3 and down the gravelled drive to her house.
“Look, there’s an owl,” she said, pointing to the wide winged flight of the owl4 against the moonlight.
“I see it,” he said, standing close to her.
“It’s rare to see one nowadays,” she got out breathlessly. “At—at first I thought it was a bat.”
“After this glorious hair?” She had brushed her wavy hair into shining clouds, and it gleamed in the moonlight. She felt beautiful for the first time ever, and his brilliant blue eyes seemed to acknowledge it tonight. His hand stroked down her hair, his eyes following the movement, and she swayed towards him, her face filled with longing5.
“Georginal!” It was a reprimand, his hands tight on her slender6 shoulders, holding her back, and she trembled in the warm night air, devastated by his tone.
“What did I do? I’ve grown up, Steven. Don’t you want to kiss me goodnight?”
“The way your boyfriends do? I’m not one of them,” he said harshly.
“I know.” She hung her head in shame, tears in her eyes. “And—and they don’t kiss me—not really.”
“How foolish of them,” he taunted. “What a missed opportunity.”
“I—I don’t let them kiss me properly. I don’t like it.”