She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. I'm going to be frank; we must have a clear understanding. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence.
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