She throws the window up and it is the blast of cold air billowing her filmy blue
nightgown out behind that tells her that this is no dream. The man is gone and with
a sensation like swooning she realizes he was never there. She takes a shuddering,
groping step backward and the wolf leaps smoothly into her room and shakes itself,
spraying a dreamy sugarpuff of snow in the darkness.
But love! Love is like ... is like . . . like a scream

February