“Anita, you can’t publish that letter.”
Her face, all their faces, turned towards us. She stared.
“Why not?” And then—“Why do you sit out there? Come here. Come into the
light.”
He did not stir.
She frowned, puckering her eyes.
“Such a fog,” she said fretfully. “I can’t see you. Can’t you keep that
door shut, Jenny?” Then—“Well, Kent—why not? Why not?”