‘We?’ Gerald smiled. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. Martin managed to catch her after class the next day. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. Go on and tell me. Yet he stays. She saw his eyes glaze over.
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