I couldn’t help the thought. ’ ‘Ain’t it? Want me to give you some time with her? Not that I think she’ll tell you anything. Irreton. 92 She did not notice the police car sitting near the Beck house until they were pulling into the driveway. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. I could not hear his heart beat. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. 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. D.
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