He pushed the cigarettes toward her , the lighter on top of the package . She shook one out, fumbled with the lighter,felt clumsy. It wouldn't catch. He smiled a little, carefully took the lighter from her hand , and flipped the flint wheel twice before it caught. He held it, she lit her cigarette. Around men she usually felt graceful in comparison to them.Not around Robert Kincaid, though.
A white sun had turned big red ang lay just over the corn fields. Through the kitchen window she could see a hawk riding the early evening updrafts. The seven o'clock news and market summary were on the radio. And Francesca looked across the yellow Formic toward Robert Kincaid, who had come a long way to her kitchen. A long way, across more than miles.
他把香烟推向她。打火机在烟盒上面。她抖搂出一支，摸索着用打火机，感觉自己笨手笨脚的，怎么着也打不着。他微微笑了笑，小心地从她手里接过打火机，打了火轮两下才打着。他好火机，她就着点着了香烟。她通常在男人面前感觉相对于他们来说更优雅一些，但在罗伯特金凯德面前却不是这样。
太阳越来越红，正好落在玉米地上空。她从窗户望出去，看见一只鹰正乘着黄昏的风扶摇直上。收音机里播放着七点钟的新闻和市场简讯。弗朗西斯卡隔着黄色塑料贴面的桌子望向对面的罗伯特金凯德，他走了很远的路，来到她的厨房，漫漫长路，哪能用米计算！
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