"I feel guilty, going away and leaving that ignorant child; but our days have been so planned that we dare not change the schedule. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. . They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Then her eyes flashed. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears.
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