She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. Contenting himself with brandishing the weapon in the Jew's eyes, he exerted all his force to prevent him from rising. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven.
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