A young man turned to pay the cabman. ” He looked at her with white, set face. She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. And nothing to tell her where to begin. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. ” “Would you let me go on studying for a time?” “If you order patience. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose.
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