“I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. 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.
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