They, I believe, are all."
"No they aren't! There's somebody else!"
Queed supposed she was going to say God, but he dutifully inquired,
"Who?"
Fifi looked decidedly disappointed. "I thought you knew," she said,
gazing at him with childlike directness. "Me."
Queed's eyes fell. There was a brief silence. The young man became aware
of a curious sensation in his chest which he did not understand in the
least, but which he was not prepared to describe as objectionable. To
pass over it, and to bring the conversation to an immediate close, he
rapped the open book austerely with his pencil.
"We must proceed with the difficulties. Let me hear you try the passage.
Come! _Quam ob rem, Quirites_...."
The nine o'clock difficulties proceeded with, and duly cleared up, Fifi
did not stay for the second, or 9.45, interlude. She closed _M.T.
Ciceronis Orationes Selectae_, gathered together her other paraphernalia,
and then she said suddenly:--
"I may leave school next week, Mr. Queed. I--don't think I'm going to
graduate."
He looked up, surprised and displeased. "Why on earth do you think
that?"
"Well, you see, they don't think I'm strong enough to keep up the work
right now.
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