True to her nature, Cathy had already offered John snacks and drinks of water twice by the time Lucy bounded down the stairs at 3:58. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. ’ It seems that I was mistaken. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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