Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1940-03-22

"Then you didn't mean what you
said?"
March opened her lips to admit she
hadn't meant it. But the words
wouldn't come. She felt warm color
wash upward across her throat, her
face and was thankful for the en-
shrouding darkness. March Allison,
twenty-five years old, supposedly in
telligent, possessed of considerable
poise and some sophistication, blush
ing like a schoolgirl with her first
beau!
She said, her voice husky, hesitant,
"I-I meant it at the moment. But
there aren't any places like that
and it must be getting late"
Brent leaned forward and started
the motor. He grinned and with that
grin, re-established the casual CANA
raderie of their first moments to-
gether. March felt the silly crowd
ing fears that had confused her fade
away as though they had never been.
He said, That's all l want to know!
You just aren't acquainted with your
Chicago. I've bunch I know the
very spot you meant"
Following Brent's bunch, they
drove eastward and a little north.
March's hat lay on the seat beside
her and the soft wind whipped her
hair. The white straight road spun
out ahead of them and behind. Street
lights swung past in stately rhythm.
After a time March said, her eyes
dancing, a little smile curving her
mouth, 81 smell the lake."
And Brena nodded. ''People forget
about it this time of year."
He parked the car at the closed end
of quiet street. Together they
made their way across a stretch of
parkway, along graveled path. Then
there was sand beneath their feet, a
more insistent rumble of breakers in
their ears. The jangling noises of
the city grew hushed and distant. The
lake stretched away, black immen-
sity under the matching black immen-
sity of the sky. There were no stars,
no moon. Only darkness and quiet,
above and beneath and all around
them, hemming them in, restoring
their spirits, making them vital and
whole again.
They walked along the lake shore
and March asked wonderingly, "Do
you come here often? You found it
as though you did,"
He was nothing more than disem-
bodied voice in the blackness, grave,
impersonal. "When reach the sat-
uration point, when can't stand any
more-then I come" And he asked.
"You like it, too?"
1t was easy to be honest, entirely
natural with a disembodied voice.
March answered simply. more than
I can tell you" He sensed rather
than saw, her faint smile. "Only
Pm getting sand in my shoes. Wait"
He felt her lean down, resting her
hand on his arm to steady herself.
He asked, "What are you doing?"
Taking off my Shoes"
"But-your stockings! Brent OBJ
jected. He remembered how very
sheer they were, how expensive-look-
ing.
"I'm taking them off, too"
After a moment the pressure of her
hand lessened, she stood erect once
more. A little bubble of laughter
rose in her voice. "The sand is love-
ly and COOL"
Brent said, 81 know"
Thy walked on slowly and suddenly
March exclaimed, "Look at the lights!
Navy Pier, al 1.-The big hotels and a.
partments-they aren't stone and
steel, modelled to a plan that grew
in someone's brain; they're just lights.
See the lovely green and yellow ones
high up over there? That isn't a
roof garden where I've dined and
danced. It's a necklace for" she
hesitated, "who was the goddess of
night? Or was there one? Pm a
fraid my mythology's little rusty"
Brent's mythology was regrettably
rusty, too. He wished she would rest
her hand on his arm again-and ours
ed himself soundly for an utter fool!
He said abruptly, cts the lake
that draws me. The sense of it's be-
ing here, the sound and smell of it.
and nothing but blackness to see."
And he added, "The only trouble is,
it's too big"
"Too big? "She thought he might
be smiling but she wasn't sure.
He said, "Where come from, the
lakes are smaller and there ara a lot