One Sunday while they were at the table Flip said to Paul, "Why don't you ski back down to school with me if your father will let us, and then I could sort of show you around and he could come and get you."
"No," Paul said.
"Why not?"
"I just don't want to."
"Why don't you go, Paul?" Georges Laurens put in. "It would do you good."
"Please, Paul," Flip begged. "School's been lots of fun since Christmas."
"You've certainly changed," Paul said, looking down at his plate.
"Yes, I have. And it's lots nicer. I'm not the most popular girl in school or anything but they don't hate me any more, and Erna and Jackie and Solvei and Maggie are nice to me and everybody likes it because I draw pictures of them. Anyhow, you don't have to come in or say a word to anybody if you don't want to, you can go on avoiding institutions. But I want to ski back to school and I can't unless you go with me because I'm not allowed to be out alone."
"There you are," Paul said. "Rules again."
"Honestly!" Flip cried, and for the first time in speaking to Paul her voice held anger. "Prisons and concentration camps and things aren't the only place where you have rules! You have to have rules! Look at international law."