"Good night, old boy," she said.
And he took it and hurt it.

"Good night, Joany," he answered.
That pet name hurt her more than his eager grasp.

It was Marty's own word--Marty, who--who-- She threw up her head and stamped her foot, and slammed the door of her thoughts.

"Who cares ?" she said to herself, challenging life and fate.
"Come on.

Make things move." She saw Palgrave standing alone in the library looking at the sea.