“Hey, John. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. I cannot answer that question. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. He grew even harder. This is my first venture over here. How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant. “Yes?” he said. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. Girls who had envied her former position as John’s amour passed no opportunity to utter cryptic remarks as she sat in Study Hall, walked down hallways, or rinsed her hands in the bathroom. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. ’ ‘Useful certainly.
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