There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. Senior year started with a whimper. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Four prisoners, termed "The Partners," had charge of this hold. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. She knew it was to be a long night, and her stomach turned with the knowledge that Cathy and Larry Beck would be waiting to pick her up after the questioning, which meant they would be up all night despite the fact they both had jobs to go to in the morning. “Goodnight.
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