A Shrewd and Cunning
Authority

Such a day as Dorriet’s is a reminder to the hopeful that one cannot be hurt in a devastating way, that life should be as endless as possible.

So I am very happy, thought Dorriet.

She is a poor, sick person who is very lonely.

Dorriet said, “Come on, Dorriet.”

She talked softly, aloud, more than she realized—frequently. She did not often wish to keep any of her thoughts to herself—her tendency to try to persuade.

“Daddy! Daddy!” shrieked a little boy who was sitting next to her on the powerful city bus.

The buses are powerful.

“Come on!” said Dorriet. Her fingers tightened into fists. The father’s statements to his child, cours­ing from him as flowing fountains would in such a desert, had the depth, the clarity of vision which proved to Dorriet that he should be the boy’s fa­ther—that he was hers.

She can stay in the lap of their luxury if she keeps her voice down.