“Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. Thank you for walking me home the other day. But never mind that. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. ” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. Not so bad.
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