the frustratingly-false contentment that she has presented over the majority of the story. She sits at the table, from his view against the backdrop of a barren and desert landscape, with hills like white elephants along the horizon, beautifully representing the great gift of this child, and how it will bankrupt their live together. "Do you feel better?" he asks (324), in hopes that she has settled enough to finally talk about this - to tell him that she wants to go through with it. He is hurting and confused as much as she is, but is clinging to the things that he can tangibly comprehend: the girl and their life together, just the two of them. The shadow in the valley on the other side of the station, blanketing their future, is the darkness of their decision - the thought and memory of their child that will follow them the rest of their lives; however, it is a life with hope, in his mind, as opposed to the barren alternative. All she needs to do is believe with him that it will be alright, and believe in the love between them. "I feel fine," she said. "There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine" (324). He will get no such belief today, apparently - by either his love, or those who are reading his tale in this class....
