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“Okay, I guess. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. She’ll tell everyone soon, if only to gain herself some attention!” He cried under his breath. “I will make it possible,” he cried. This morning his entourage (as he jestingly called it) consisted of the girl, two spinsters (Prudence and Angelina Jedson), prim and doubtful of the world, and the young man who appeared to be considerably the worse for the alcohol he had consumed. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. She held up the lamp. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over.
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