His were the eyes of one
accustomed to the silent distances.
"Takes your breath away, rather, doesn't it? All that
color?" said Fanny, her face toward the blaze.
"Almost too obvious for my taste. I like 'em a little more
subdued, myself." They were atop a dune, and he stretched
himself flat on the sand, still keeping his bright brown
eyes on lake and sky. Then he sat up, excitedly. "Heh, try
that! Lie flat. It softens the whole thing. Like this.
Now look at it. The lake's like molten copper flowing in.
And you can see that silly sun going down in jerks, like a
balloon on a string."
They lay there, silent, while the scarlet became orange, the
orange faded to rose, the rose to pale pink, to salmon, to
mauve, to gray. The first pale star came out, and the
brazen lights of Gary, far to the north, defied it.
Fanny sat up with a sigh and a little shiver.
"Fasten up that sweater around your throat," said Heyl.
"Got a pin?" They munched their sandwiches, rather soggy by
now, and drank the last of the grape juice.
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