A Wedding in December [antikvár]

The glaciers are receding," she said. Nora peered through the window as if she could see the progress of said glaciers somé ten thousand miles north. "I read it in the paper. This morning."The view, Harrison had noted before he'd sat down, was of still-green lawns and dormant rosebushes, of a wrought iron fence and a garden bench, of ornamental grasses and white pines. Beyond the considerable acreage was a steel ribbon of river and beyond that a rangé of mountains, blue-gray in the morning light."The birds must be confused," he said."They are. I I see them flying north all the time.""Is it bad for business?""No. Not really. No one's canceled. Though the ski areas are suffering."Nora left the window and moved to the chair opposite. He watched her cross her legs, a cuff riding just above the edge of a black leather boot and making a síim bracelet of smooth white skin. Harrison superimposed the woman he saw now over the memory of the seventeen-year-old girl he'd once known, a girl with a soft face and large almond-shaped eyes, a girl who had been graceful in her movements. The woman before him was forty-four, and somé of the softness had left her face. Her hair was different, too. She wore it short, swept behind her ears, a cut that looked more European than American.When they'd met just moments earlier at the foot of the stairs in the front hallway, Nora had been standing at a small