" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Her English was halting. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed.
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