. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Mrs. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. Just a friendly polite suggestion.
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