I asked him—to take me away. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures.
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