She wouldn't let herself think about Roger Dallinger any more. She was an intelligent human being. Surely she could select her own thoughts—her own acts.
'Let me run the car,' desperately, in the middle of the afternoon, she suggested to Felix. 'I used to run one years ago.'
But even with her hands upon the wheel and her eyes upon the road she couldn't escape Roger. It was as if a spring long buried had suddenly broken through the surface of her consciousness, and try as she might she could not stem its steady, gentle flow.
Sheilah had decided not to attempt the campingout venture, but to push through to the children in one day. The little car drew up to the curb in front of the apartment house at about eight o'clock at night. Before Sheilah had stepped out onto the sidewalk there was a surprised shout from one of the windows, and before she could reach the front door the children were upon her, all three, flushed and excited, all talking at once, calling her name.
'Hello, Mother. You all well, Mother? Do you like our new car, Mother? Were you surprised, Mother? We got a telephone, Mother. I got a medal at camp, Mother. You going to stay at home now, Mother?'
