He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. The psychic vibration of him thickened the air of the room as if he were already inside. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly.
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