When they had gone, vanishing around a sharp bend in the lane, Clyde said, "Uh, Margy. Have you ever thought, I mean really thought, of having to grow up?"
"... Yes," she said, feeling a calmness come to her, an almost iciness, a resignation.
"It's awful puzzling: I mean, they know so much. It takes so long to become an adult. And you're always doing silly things that they don't do, and you don't know why. You don't understand. It's hard, to understand. And sometimes you're almost afraid you'll never be able to grow up."
He was a boy again, now, and she felt her heart swell in sympathy as she watched him and listened to his words, and for a single moment, many things seemed possible.
"It's awful hard," he said. "And if a man has to do it alone...."
The calm was gone. No, No! she shrieked mentally, No, please don't ask me!
"It makes it so much harder," Clyde continued. "Have you ever ... I mean ... uh, Margy, it's kinda nice, I mean ... to make an early first marriage, don't you think?"
She felt herself trembling, and her lips moved soundlessly.
"What I want to say, it's so much nicer to have someone. I mean, it helps you grow up faster. Gives you responsibilities. Teaches you, I mean."