When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. The chair was torture. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. He gripped one of her pert nipples with his fingers as he came inside her. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college.
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