They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. She was gone. He wanted her named Mary. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury.
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