And he was trying to cheat her. They were trying to cheat her. She did not know, she did not care. There was something inside of her, and it was desperation. "Don't leave me, too," she sobbed. "I just want to be loved. I just want somebody to love me." Her arms were suddenly around him, strong and hungry, and the contact with him was electric, but somewhere in the back of her mind, blunted, a small voice moaned. "Please," she whimpered, her mind almost blank and spinning. "Please, Clyde. Like this. Just like this. When you touched me on the elbow this afternoon...." He tried to draw away; but her arms held him tightly. Suddenly he put both hands against her breasts and pushed brutally. She fell back, stunned. Clyde jumped to his feet and started to run, terrified. "Clyde!" she moaned. "Clyde, don't run away! Don't cheat me, Clyde. Don't leave me, Clyde." The wind was in the trees again, and she put her head on her arm and began to cry softly. "Clyde," she whispered. (Or was it only the wind in the trees?) * * * * * She hardly knew why she came to school the next day; her body was leaden with fatigue, and in her mind there was a sense of impending doom. On the way down the soft, green path, she stared at the ground, and when an adult passed, she was afraid to look into his eyes, lest, somehow, he understand. She should go away; as she crossed the school ground she knew that, but she was too hurt to go away, and nothing seemed to matter greatly. And then she was in class and Clyde was not there. She wanted to run out into the sunshine, and run forever, mostly backward into yesterday, where everything was so very simple. Looking at Teach, she could not help hating her: so poised, so calm, so understanding, so sure; even with the tiny crows-feet--the first signs of wearing out--around her eyes, as if she had never seen herself as a white death's head, and imagined the wind whispering over her grave and rustling the grass that had been her body, the green grass, dying. But Teach's movements were still quick and lively, and her body did not look as if there was death inside of it, waiting. And as she watched Teach conduct the class and play upon it as a maestro might upon an orchestra, she remembered the last night, and the wind, and the boy, and she felt _unclean_. Time hung suspended; and every second the clock let fall was a heartbeat of increasing intensity. Suspense was in the air, and Margy knew that she was waiting, waiting with a wound up tenseness that would explode inside of her if something didn't happen. And it was almost a relief when the messenger came, and Teach said, "Margy, would you mind going into room C? Someone wants to see you there." Trembling, Margy stood up. "Yes, Teach." She left the room, her feet heavy, too heavy to turn toward the door and set running as she half wanted them to do. * * * * *