“I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. " "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious by mingling in the conflicts of life.
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