“I never wanted to kick any one so much in my life as that second fellow. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. Had to. .
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