Clifton's chickens
across the way. . .
Precious minutes were speeding by; she would not have her Geometry
lesson. But Missy didn't bring herself back to think of that; would
not have cared, anyway. She let her soul stretch out, out, out.
Such is the sweet, subtle, compelling madness a day of Spring can
bring one.
Missy had often felt the ecstasy of being swept out on the yearning
demand for a new experience. Generally because of something
suggestive in "reading" or in heavenly colour combinations or in sad
music at twilight; but, now, for no definable reason at all, she
felt her soul welling up and up in vague but poignant craving. She
asked permission to get a drink of water. But instead of quenching
her thirst, she wandered to the entry of the room occupied by
Mathematics III A--Missy's own class, from which she was now
sequestered by the cruel bar termed "failure-to-pass." Something was
afoot in there; Missy put her ear to the keyhole; then she boldly
opened the door.
A tempest of paper-wads, badinage and giggles greeted her. The
teacher's desk was vacant.
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