48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. It is not at all comme il faut. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do. She laughed a little bitterly. \" She sat down on a nearby bench.
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