62 <8> A FIRST DATE WITH JOHN DIEDERMAYER The weekend began for her with that luxury of all luxuries, sleep. Decidedly this was imbecile. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He had more time for her. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery.
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