‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. She bought her Greyhound ticket one steamy afternoon when school let out at eleven thirty A. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. They set about everyone—everyone. We married, and for a time we were happy. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy.
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