he said. ‘One should never go there.’

‘Right,’ she answered.

He poured a little coffee into a tin can.

‘You won’t tell me where you will go?’ he asked.

‘Really and truly,’ she said, ‘I don’t know. It depends which way the wind blows.’

He looked at her quizzically, then he pursed up his lips, like Zephyrus, blowing across the snow.

‘It goes towards Germany,’ he said.

‘I believe so,’ she laughed.

Suddenly, they were aware of a vague white figure near them. It was Gerald. Gudrun’s