Yet there was nothing for her to do. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. It is Thérèse. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. A single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on.
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