"I don''t like to have my hair cut."
"Neither do I," said Maria. "And I like thy hair as it is. So. If there is nothing to do for thee, I will sit by thee and watch thee and in the nights we will make love."
"Good," Robert Jordan said. "The last project is very sensible."
"To me it seems the same," Maria smiled. "Oh, _Ingl閟_," she said.
"My name is Roberto."
"Nay. But I call thee _Ingl閟_ as Pilar does."
"Still it is Roberto."
"No," she told him. "Now for a whole day it is _Ingl閟_. And _Ingl閟_, can I help thee with thy work"
"No. What I do now I do alone and very coldly in my head."
"Good," she said. "And when will it be finished"
"Tonight, with luck."
"Good," she said.
Below them was the last woods that led to the camp.
"Who is that" Robert Jordan asked and pointed.
"Pilar," the girl said, looking along his arm. "Surely it is Pilar."
At the lower edge of the meadow where the first trees grew the woman was sitting, her head on her arms. She looked like a dark bundle from where they stood; black against the brown of the tree trunk.
"Come on," Robert Jordan said and started to run toward her through the knee-high heather. It was heavy and hard to run in and when he had run a little way, he slowed and walked. He could see the woman''s head was on her folded arms and she looked broad and black against the tree trunk. He came up to her and said, "Pilar!" sharply.