Let it start and then walk up and knock on Tony’s door and say quite simply:
“I’ve missed my bus, so I’ve come to see Roddy.” Roddy would spring forward to greet her. All would be made right with Tony.
For a moment that seemed the clear, delightful inevitable solution.
But what would their faces hide from her or betray? What unbearable amusement, suspicion, astonishment, contempt?
And what was there to do on such a night save to say to Roddy: “I love you,” and then go away again? To dare everything, run to him and cry:
I am Lazarus come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I will tell you all.
But what if he should answer with that disastrous answer:
That is not what I meant at all,
That is not it, at all.
If he were to stare and coldly reply, with real speech:
‘Are you mad?’