She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. “Good, I’m so glad, Lucy. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without friction. It’s all nonsense. “I will believe you. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend.
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