If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. ” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. E.
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