There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. ’ ‘In one little minute,’ she said, snapping her fingers, ‘it is over and voilà tout. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. " "Ah, I see. ‘It is the life I know.
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