Sylvan Cheney's eyes concealed a profound depth.
What was she thinking?
"I'm going to take a shower."
Jasmine Yale turned around.
With her back to him, she found her pajamas in the wardrobe before entering the bathroom.
Her retreating figure suggested a kind of panic-stricken flight.
Sylvan Cheney didn't move, maintaining his earlier posture.
His austere face bore an endless depth.
In the bathroom, Jasmine Yale turned on the shower, her heart thudding uncontrollably.
A wave of complicated emotions washed over her, leaving her bewildered, lost, and disoriented in their wake.
Steam began to rise.
Her feelings surged melancholically, like ripples in water.
...
The winter in Landon began to mellow, and the temperatures were no longer as frigid as in December.
Traces of spring were starting to be found in the air.
The day was gloomy, the daytime as dark as the night.
Since morning, a soft drizzle had filled the air, each thread-like droplet making a persistent weave.
