He, too, stood looking at her for a moment--and it seemed to her that it was not a look of greeting after an absence, but the look of someone who had thought of her every day of that year. She could not be certain, it was only an instant, so brief that just as she caught it, he was turning to a point at the birch tree behind him saying the the tone of their childhood game:

'I'd wish you'd learn to run faster I'll always have to wait for you'

'Will you wait for me?' she asked gaily,

He answered without smiling
Always

Autore: Ayn Rand