“Hey, John. ” She picked at her sandwich idly. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. I didn’t understand before that letter. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. I may as well think. ” She raked into the fire with the poker. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered.
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