” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. The sound of her flying feet brought Gerald leaping for the door. He opened the drawer of the writing table. A brief calm succeeded. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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