" "Why what will she say?" inquired Sheppard. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. “Great, Cathy. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. . She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit.
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