What is worth doing? Anything?
They turned to head back in the direction of the chalet, and the east wind was bitterly cold on her exposed face. Pyjamas, she thought, and bare feet. He could not still be alive out here. This, like everything else, was a waste of time and effort. Perversely, she was glad of the fact that it was also uncomfortable.
Douglas, a few feet above her on the slope, said:
‘It will soon be light.’
The mountain spur in front of them was delicately touched with rose, the stars fading overhead. On the glimmering slopes, she could see other figures – two together well below the chalet, three higher up and further off. Physical fatigue and lack of sleep had made her a little light-headed. She said:
He turned his head in her direction. ‘Yes.’
‘What is worth doing? Anything?’