It took a great effort to control his voice. He said, “How?”
She got off the bed. “I’ll show you. Stand in front of the lamp; I want to look into the street.”
Unwillingly, because she had told him to do something, and he felt that no woman should tell him to do anything, he moved so that his back completely shadowed the lamp.
He watched her cautiously pull aside the curtain and glance into the dark square. Then she turned her head and nodded. “They’ve gone,” she said; “now I’ll show you.”
She went over to a battered chest of drawers and pulled out a black, cotton dress. She threw it on the bed. A brassiere and a pair of knickers followed. She went on her hands and knees and hunted the chest of drawers. The boy, standing watching, could only see her broad hips as her head disappeared out of sight. He shifted his eyes uneasily.
At last she found what she was looking for and she climbed to her feet, in her hand she held a pair of shoes.
She nodded at the clothes. “Get into them,” she said, “you’re about my size. Then we’ll go out together. It’ll be easy.”
The boy couldn’t believe his ears. He stood glaring at her. The rage boiled up in his guts.
“Do hurry,” she urged. “Can’t you see it’s the only way out for you?”
“You asking me to put those things on?”