In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. She remembered Taber's hat. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.
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