“David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. “I told you I did not love you. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. He smiled. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles. “I have given it up,” she answered.
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