Billy; and she—she herself directly and in person—what had she done to Gregg? Hadn't she turned her back on him and despised him and sent him away for suggesting she learn that which had to be taught her?
And there seized her a sensation of relief and let-down from strain, when now she thought of Gregg, such as—she realized—had always come to her with him; she longed, longed to talk to him and see him looking down at her and hear his voice helping her, as on that night of the day after she had fought with Billy and taken his excoriation, and her father had come home, when Gregg had come to her and taken her out of the house, where she could barely endure to stay.
For Billy again had shaken her; and she wanted to hear what Gregg, knowing all that Billy did, would say; she wanted the comfort of his, "You've been wonderful; no one like you ever in the world!" uttered gruffly, so that hardly she heard, he felt it so; she wanted to feel his fingers, not accusing and violent, but steadying, strong, and so gentle in their brief moments on her arm.
Why hadn't she told him to come when he wrote her; why had she not sent for him?
If Billy had found her before, she would have had to, she thought.
