A car ran across the bridge and almost grazed her; its driver did not see her in the dark. It was very late. She blew her nose at last and it was as if she blew all her thoughts, too, into the handkerchief. She tiptoed into the house, but Flo was awake, propped up in her bed, with a book and a Hershey bar. “What’s the matter?” said Flo. “You’ve been crying. Or shouldn’t I notice?” “I’m sore at everybody,” said Gin. She walked over to her bed and began to take off her shoes. “No,” she said suddenly. “I’m damned if I’ll just go to bed. Let’s go out for a walk.” “What? You’re crazy. Tell me what’s happened.” “Oh, Harvey makes me so sick. Everybody makes me sick. He said I was just good to sleep with.” “Um. How does he know?” “Don’t be an idiot. He says I’m not good for anything else.” “Oh, never mind. I always did think he was pretty low.” “But he’s right, Flo. He’s right.” Her voice rose to a tragic squeak. “That’s what’s so terrible. That’s the way things are.” Flo put down her book and looked benign. “How many times must I tell you about these people? You overrate everybody. You haven’t any discrimination at all. The idea of letting a taxi-driver with the brains of a peanut get you so excited. You’re shaking all over. Why, he’s just one of those people. Good Lord, Gin.... I’ve half a mind to go with you and walk it off.” “Well, come on. Put something on over your pajamas. Nobody’s going to see you.” Flo, surprisingly, acted on the suggestion. She pulled on a skirt and a pair of sandals, then shrouded herself in a coat. “All right, kid,” she said. “Let’s go. You look like Lady Macbeth.” This was better. Flo was decent all right. It was thrilling, walking through the empty streets. If anyone should stop them and see those pajama-legs dragging! She giggled. They turned to the edge of town and walked up to the top of a hill, making a dust that was invisible in the dark but tickled their noses. At the top they stopped to puff and to look back at the city. There were still some lights; the square of lights that marked the penitentiary and the dimmed lamp posts on the plaza. As they watched, even these went out and left only the moon and a few sparks from the windows of the houses. Now that Gin’s heart had stopped beating so fast, she could smell the night smells. “Oh, well,” she said, “to hell with Harvey.” “Sure,” said Flo. CHAPTER NINE Walking goes in two-four time, but riding either on horse or in an automobile makes a rhythm like a waltz. For half an hour Blake had been thinking up waltzes and trying to hum them against the waltz that his mind seemed to prefer. Whenever he relaxed for the shortest space of time he would hear again, like a stubborn gramophone far back between his ears, It’s three o’clock in the morning: We’ve danced—th’ whole night through.... and the tick of the left rear wheel of the car kept it up.