The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. “You see, I will take your arm. . You will survive, mark my words. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. . ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars.
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