E. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. He’ll never ask because I’m not in with those people, you know? Well, I guess John Diedermayer might have some connection, but, I certainly don’t. Gracious, there’s the gong. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain.
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