I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me. Plote was sleeping or deaf. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. He knows everything. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. Playing became a way of escape. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke.
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