“Hey, John. To—to find myself. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. Her heartbeat quickened. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. He did not like it. She was furiously angry.
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