“I am, too. Never mind—it’s not so bad being miserable together.”
“You’re rather nice”—then lower still—“kiss me....”
He laid his cheek down against her’s—no more. But she seemed content ... and Deb turned away; stood, forlornly enough, with her back to the bed, looking down at Cora.... “I’m miserable too,” she whispered. But Jenny heard:
“Deb!—Deb, come over here—come over to me at once. How dare you not come ... feeling like that? Deb!”
Deb crouched beside the bed, with Jenny’s arms tightly wound about her shoulders. The soldier’s knee, hard as granite, pressed against her side. They were all three very near together ... a magnetic sense of rest was born in this close contact—Jenny’s hot skin, Deb’s tumble of hair, harsh feel of the soldier’s frayed tweed coat.... There was no other illumination in the room, and Cora cast her spells in hard blocks of white light and black shadow.
“Good old Chorus,” breathed Jenny.
“You’re a really-and-truly person, Jenny, aren’t you?”
“Sweetheart, what do you mean?”
“I used to ask about people in stories: are they really-and-truly real? Somehow I always know that you are; at least you, if nobody else.”
“Of course she is,” grunted Ames; “considering she’s a Christian, quite remarkably real.”