“Oh no, no,” she sobbed, and grabbed at my wrist with both of her hands.

I looked down into her frightened, tear-flooded eyes. Her quivering lips were upturned—slightly parted.

There wasn’t any conscious volition about kissing her. I just found my lips clinging to hers, the taste of her tears, salt on my lips. She let go of my wrist then, drew me down close to her, half turned her body with a quick twist so that she was clinging to me.

After a moment, our lips separated. I raised my right hand along her blouse, fumbled with the fastenings at the neck, parted it, and drew away the silk.

She was limp in my arms, making no resistance. The sobbing had quieted.

“When did this happen, Alma?” I asked.

“Last night,” she said.

“How did it happen? Who was it?”

She clung to me, and I could feel her tremble.

“Poor kid,” I said, and kissed her again.

We sat there in the car, our lips held together, her body close and warm against mine. The bitterness and tension flowed out of me. I ceased to hate the world. A peaceful feeling took possession of me. It wasn’t passion. It wasn’t that kind of a kiss. I don’t know what kind of a kiss it was because I’d never had one before like it. She did things to me—things which I’d never before experienced.

Her sobbing ceased. She quit kissing me, gave a nervous, quivering little gasp, opened her purse, took out a square of handkerchief, and started drying her tears.

“I’m a sight,” she said, looking in the mirror on the inside of her purse. “Has Sally Durke come out yet?”

The question brought me back to realities with a jump. I peered through the windshield of the car at the entrance of the apartment house. It was forbiddingly inanimate. A dozen Sally Durkes could have come out and gone away, and I’d have been none the wiser.

“She hasn’t left, has she?” Alma asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope not.”

There was something throaty in her laugh. “I hope not,” she said. “I feel a lot better. I—I like to be kissed by you, Donald.”

I wanted to say something and couldn’t. It was as though I was seeing and hearing her for the first time. Little cadences in her voice, little tricks of expression were registering with me for the first time. God, I must have been bitter not to have seen her. She had been with me for hours and yet this was the first time I’d really noticed her. Now, all of my attention was concentrated on her presence. I couldn’t think of anything else. I could feel the warmth of her body coming through her clothes where her legs were pressed against mine.