She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. Open it. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. "I could hang him now if I liked. “If you speak—farewell. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. ’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that.
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