The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. He recognized the face instantly. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked.
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