"We'll have to insist.... Just go with the matron. Wait back there with the matron. Perhaps (hopefully) you'll talk to the matron?"
She would not talk to the matron. But she would go with the matron if they wanted her to.
The cabbie was just going outside. She said good-bye. He said good-bye. He said he was very grateful. He had said almost nothing but that for hours. Lucky, who had a broken collar bone, said nothing.
They passed a street door. After Lucky, it would be easy. Anything would be easy. She shoved the matron. She opened the door and went outside and slammed the door and ran.
"Holy Mac," the cabbie said, getting into his car.
"Show me how grateful you are?"
"I can't—"
"Just to the city line and a subway station. Please? But you've got to hurry...."
He uttered an understandable curse and let her in and they sped away before the matron could come outside and see in which direction her charge had disappeared....
At precisely four-fifteen, the cab turned into her block. The driver had changed his mind, had taken her all the way there. She was about to point out her house—knowing she could never be checked there because instead of Jeanne-Marie the police would find, praise be, plain Mary-Jean—when suddenly she spotted him on the street.