\" Larry got up from his chair and trudged to the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of milk from the never-ending supply of two percent. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. The man himself was not a pleasant object. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects.
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