She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. They should never come into contact with politics or economics—or any of those things. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptible now.
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