She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. To-morrow they will know the truth. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. Oh, I know.
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