“So it seems that I was wrong. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. . Out of these he selected a faded parchment and restored the rest to safety. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy.
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