Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. She helped him take it off. Knap. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. He was silent.
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