“No,” she snapped, bristling. She lied bravely, and I knew it, and respected her for it, somehow. It was one of those lies you know to be a lie and yet believe. The beauty of her lie was that she just let it go with that plain, short “No!” She did not go into any long explanations or excuses, or blame it on anybody else. It was a perfect lie, any way you look at it.

She lied to me and made me like it. My mind was much disturbed by this terrible story, so new to me, and a hundred plans came into it for helping her, but she seemed so independent, confident, and resourceful that I hesitated.

She struck the table with her fist. “If I ever put my foot out of that place again I’ll stay out. I was foolish to go out today; it’s so much harder to go back now, after all the fun we’ve had. If I had a change of clothes I would stay away and try to get a job and start over again. I’ve got to get out of there while I’m young and strong enough to work.”