Meanwhile Missy, the big ribbon index under her sailor-brim
palpitantly askew, was progressing down Locust Avenue with a
measured, accented gait that might have struck an observer as being
peculiar. The fact was that the refrain vibrating through her soul
had found its way to her feet. She'd hardly been conscious of it at
first. She was just walking along, in time to that inner song:
"Cosmos--cosmos--cosmos--cosmos--"
And then she noticed she was walking with even, regular steps,
stepping on every third crack in the board sidewalk, and that each
of these cracks she stepped on ran, like a long punctuation, right
through the middle of "cosmos." So that she saw in her mind this
picture: |Cos|mos| |cos|mos| |cos|mos| |cos|mos|
It was fascinating, watching the third cracks punctuate her thoughts
that way. Then it came to her that it was a childish sort of game--
she was seventeen, now. So she avoided watching the cracks. But
"Cosmos" went on singing through her head and soul.
She came to Main Street and, ignoring the turn eastward which led to
the Public Library, faced deliberately in the opposite direction.
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