Peter didn't say anything more about his parents; we just talked about books and about the past.
Oh, he gazes at me with such warmth in his eyes; I don't think it will take much for me to fall in love with him.
He brought the subject up this evening. I went to his room after peeling potatoes and remarked on how hot it was.
“You can tell the temperature by looking at Margot and me, because we turn white when it's cold and red when it's hot,” I said.
“In love?” he asked. “Why should I be in love?” It was a pretty silly answer (or, rather, question).
“Why not?” he said, and then it was time for dinner. What did he mean?
Today I finally managed to ask him whether my chatter bothered him. All he said was, “Oh, it's fine with me!”
I can't tell how much of his reply was due to shyness. Kitty, I sound like someone who's in love
and can talk about nothing but her dearest darling. And Peter is a darling.
Will I ever be able to tell him that? Only if he thinks the same of me,
but I'm the kind of person you have to treat with kid gloves, I know that all too well.
And he likes to be left alone, so I don't know how much he likes me. In any case, we're getting to know each other a little better.
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