” 200 < 25 > MEETING MARTIN CHEN She tried out for the Lincoln High orchestra on a whim. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. "Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs.
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