His literary instincts were reviving. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. ” “I am convinced of it,” she answered.
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