Again she sat in a
big, noisy place with many jostling, laughing people--and waited to see
Howie. She forgot that the place had ugly red walls and sickly green
lights; she could somehow separate herself from harsh voices and
smells--for she was here to meet Howie!
She knew just the part of the house to sit in. Once she had sat where
she couldn't see him as he passed from sight! After that she had always
come very early. So she had to sit there while other people were coming
in. But she didn't much mind that; it was like sitting in a crowded
railway station when the person you love is coming soon.
But suddenly something reached over that gulf between other people and
her. A word. A terrible word. Behind her some one said "munitions." She
put her hand to her eyes and pressed tight. Not to _see_. That was why
she had to keep coming for this look at Howie. She had to see
_him_--that she might shut out _that_--the picture of Howie--_blown into
pieces_.
She _hated_ people. They were always doing something like this to her.
She hated all these people in the theater. It seemed they were all,
somehow, against her. And Howie had been so good to them! He was so good
to people like the people in this theater. It was because he was so good
and kind to them that he was--that he was not Howie now.
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