He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. Suddenly she understood. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. She reeled in excitement, she unzipped his pants while kissing him, trying not to let herself stop touching him as she unclothed him. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open.
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