195 < 24 > A CITY IN GREECE, 589 B. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. She had maintained a B in each subject except History, which she occasionally felt compelled to strive for A’s in, considering she had lived through most of it. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. I should have thought my note cleared up everything. The party, then, sat down to a bowl of punch; and, at its conclusion, Captain Kneebone regretted that an engagement to spend the evening with Mrs. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. "In the devil's name, is that you, Jack!" ejaculated Kneebone. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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