” Miss Stanley rose and regarded Ann Veronica fixedly. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Conscious of Mrs. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry. It’s just that I want to say. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things.
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