There were two intermissions. During the first she tried to chat and failed. In the second, when the Worm suggested a turn in the open air she merely shook her head, without looking up. And that hungry look deepened in the Worm's eyes.
Toward the end, when the buffeted but unbowed young woman was fighting with the strength of inspired despair for the one decent hope left to her, the hope of personal freedom, Peter's story reached its highest point. As did Sue's acting. The girl herself, sitting up there in the gallery, head bowed, shading with a slim hand her wet eyes, leaned more and more closely against the dear whimsical friend at her side. When his groping hand found hers she clung to it as honestly as the girl on the screen would have done.
It was over. For a moment the house was in darkness and silence. This was another of Zanin's effects. Then the lights came on dimly; the concealed orchestra struck softly into another of those Russian things; the primitive people on the stage, you suddenly saw, were quietly going on about the simple business of their village. A girl like Sue walked on, skilfully picked out by the lighting. The audience caught the suggestion and turned where they stood in seat-rows, aisles and entrances to applaud wildly. Still another Zaninesque touch!
CHAPTER XXXVI—APRIL! APRIL!
SLOWLY the crowd in the gallery moved out and down the twisting flights of stairs. Sue slipped her arm through the Worm's and silently clung to him. They were very close in spirit. Down at the street entrance, she said, “I don't want to see anybody, Henry.” So he hurried her across the street through a lane in the after-theater traffic and around the corner into Seventh Avenue, heading south.
“We'll have a bite somewhere, Sue,” said he then, Her head inclined in assent.
“Somewhere up around here and not on Broadway. Where we won't see a Soul.” Her arm was still in his. She felt him draw a sudden deep breath. “Oh, Sue—if only I could take you down to the old rooms—make a cup of coffee—sit and look at you curled up in your own big chair—” He broke OFF. Sue, still half in a dream, considered this.
“Why, I don't know, Henry—If you—”