They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. “We pretend bodies are ugly. I’m like a creature just wakened up. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. He also had Janine’s daughter, Traci, who he just couldn’t leave alone after she reached puberty, when she grew a small set of underdeveloped breasts.
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