He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. Old saltwater was right. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation.
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