A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. Doctor says depositions to-night. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf.
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