Never had he seen a girl more radiantly beautiful, never a beauty so strange, so troublous, so out of all accepted standards.

It was small wonder that Vanamee had loved her, and less wonder, still, that his love had been so intense, so passionate, so part of himself.

Angele had loved him with a love no less than his own.

It was one of those legendary passions that sometimes occur, idyllic, untouched by civilisation, spontaneous as the growth of trees, natural as dew-fall, strong as the firm-seated mountains.
At the time of his meeting with Angele, Vanamee was living on the Los Muertos ranch.

It was there he had chosen to spend one of his college vacations.