Gosse was backing towards the table. ‘Wait a minute, though. He grunted, and his grip gave. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. The air was pungent and leaden. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. Best assured of that. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. And this shall be your diet till you die. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents.
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