"I am. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Shari laughed hysterically and was promptly shushed by Larry from the next room. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. He insisted on buying this girl for two hundred mex. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. " "Poh! poh! say no more about it," rejoined the man hastily.
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