He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. He was human. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. I only know that it is right to do what I do. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. Both girls looked pale and listless. The well of tears in her eyes was dry.
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