I went to Meg Van Dam, who had long urged me to pay her a visit.
Meg paced the floor a minute, then slapped herself into a chair.
I dashed into my room but Meg's staccato reached me even there.
Perhaps I shouldn't have let her talk so about Meg, but, after all, she told me nothing new.
Meg, at sixteen, had received so little from life that her expectations were of the humblest.