She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. His manner was deferential, even eager. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. The place was crowded, and the people about her were almost equally made up of very goodlooking and enthusiastic young people and a great variety of Goopes-like types. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. \"Hardwood floors. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. ) He hesitated.
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