"Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. ” She wondered what to. ” She laughed gaily. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. ” The strain in her face was visible as she tried to remember. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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