He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. There was a young lad ahead of her. “She”, you say. ” “You said you loved me – did you mean it?” He said. I don’t think they do matter.
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