They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. . Lucy followed. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers.
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