As he felt the threshold of soft wetness he froze and said, “Lucy, are you sure?” She whispered, “Yes,” and guided the top of his penis into her vagina. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds.
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