"The silence said to me," she replied, "that I had been a very foolish woman—Isn't it strange how suddenly the color is leaving the sky! You can almost see it fade while you watch it—like the glow in an electric toaster, when you turn it off." She rose, as if talk were over, and we were going home. I followed, bent on a continuation.
"Yes," I said, "I suppose the sun over there behind the cloud bank has just sunk under the sea. You would think someone had pressed a button. It reminds me of the Ancient Mariner—'At one stride, came the dark.' But how have you been a 'foolish' woman?"
"Perhaps," said Cornelia, "we had better return the long way, by the road. The dusk does come fast, and I don't like the short cut over the mesa then. There are sometimes snakes."
"I don't mind snakes," I replied: "they add a spice. But if the way by the road is longer, I am for the road."
