\"Why weren't you there?\" She asked Mike. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. If individuality means anything it means breaking bounds— adventure. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might not likewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. "Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. She saw how overworked he was.
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