The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. Never in this world! Let the hotel people take care of him; it's their affair. So far the boy's mind was clear. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. "How long shall I be here?" he asked.
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