Somehow logic could not explain her. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. Too late now. Other times, the Buick was host to intense make-out sessions that lasted until the sun rose. I freely forgive you. " The Wastrel laughed. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. 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. ‘I must.
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