‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. By the time John returned with popcorn and a large Coke, the theater had filled up with high-school kids. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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