She bought her Greyhound ticket one steamy afternoon when school let out at eleven thirty A. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. He was always one step ahead of the curve, and he had found the right girls would always rat on a ringleader when their own academic records or passage to top rated colleges were at stake. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. She was consumed by misery and hate.
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