There are way-stations—even terminals. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. She rapped on Michelle’s door loudly. She was slowed down by the icy wind that punctuated itself in screams around houses and trees. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell.
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