All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Walpole for your apprehension. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. Her pa was only the smithy. ’ She spoke with difficulty, holding down the rising emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. Wood will be intercepted.
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