“There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. " Ruth laughed. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched.
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