Neither of them believed me. Well, I'll have a look-see at this young De Maupassant. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning.
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