Show him no quarter, Poll. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. I don’t care WHAT happens. I would like to talk to you about this—soon. I might forgive him that, for he obviously taught her a good deal that she has found useful. She never even graduated high school, and that has been a thorn in her side ever since. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind.
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