“Don’t laugh at me, Gloria. It’s very, very serious.”
“It sounds so.”
“I’m done with it. Forever.”
“Done with what?”
“The gymnasium. The diet. Andy Dunne. Everything.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
“I am! I am! I yam!” declared Darcy with progressive petulance. “I’ve been torturing myself for nothing. It hasn’t made a bit of difference. Look at me!”
Gloria looked and with difficulty concealed a smile of satisfaction. For, to her expert eyes, there was a difference, a marked difference, still submerged but obvious, beneath the surface, in movements which, formerly sluggish, were now brisk and supple, in a clear eye, and a skin which seemed to fit on the flesh where before it had sagged.
“How did you get up here?” inquired Gloria abruptly.
“Ran.”