did/
Garth had paid for breakfast, and as they walked across campus he felt suddenly lighthearted, filled with energy. She doesn't live in a castle, he said to himself and, packing a snowball, threw an exuberant pitch at a gnarled tree, where it climg like a white star to the black trunk. He looked at Stephanie's bright face. Tell me about the antique show. Do you know, I've always had a secret desire to fondle a nude statue. Could, this be my chance? Will you have any nude statues?'
Stephanie laughed. What a wonderful day they were going to have. *We will have statues of nudes. If you want nude statues, you will have to undress them.' It was his turn to laugh, and he took her hand securely in his as they walked up ^e steps of the libraiy.
Garth had plenty of time to ponder the contradictions in Stephanie Hartwell before she visited his laboratory in New York. He spent nine Saturdays in Biyn Mawr through the winter and spring and learned about her twin sister and the break between them, still unhealed, and about her parents in Algeria, who would soon move to Washington when her father took up his new position as Under Secretary of State for European Affairs. He heard all about her posh, ridiculously expensive Swiss school, and he learned that her sophistication came in patches from a cra2y upbringing that taught her enough about Europe to fill an encyclopedia but not enough about sex or men to fill one page of a diary. He knew about her quick intelligence, her quiet beauty and friends like Dena who cluster«l around her, offering places to stay over vacations; everyone wanted to give Stephanie a home. And so did Garth. Because he had fallen in love with her.
'1*11 meetyou atyour office/ Stephanie said when he called her at the Cardozos* apartment. 'It's silly for you to pick me up. How do I get there?' He gave her directions and she skipped to her room to dress. Spring vacation in New York: a whole week with Garth, since the Cardozos knew about him and hadn't made plans for her. A week with Garth. She sang it to herself on the subway.
But as she walked to the university, the noise of a crowd cut across her thoughts. It seemed to come from all directions until, turning a comer, Stephanie found herself engulfed in it: the shouts of young people massed together, waving signs and cheering a freckle-faced boy who stood on a truck, yelling hoarsely through a bullhorn. A wall of policemen with linked arms stood between Stephanie and a four-story building whose windows and windowsilk were crowded with shouting, gesturing men and women. Uncertain, she looked about, trying to find an address. She started to ask a policeman, but the noise drowned out her voice. Then, suddenly. Garth was there, his arm around her, walking her quickly past the occupied building and into the one next door.
They rode the elevator to the fourth floor. 'Quite an introduction to my home-sweet-home,' said Garth ruefully. 'If I'd known beforehand, I wouldn't have let you come. But it seems to be a stalemate, so we'll have a quick tour and then get out.'
'I've never been close to a demonstration; Bryn Mawr is so quiet—*
'We've been blessed with them like clockwork. They've almost become part of university life.' He unlocked a door. 'Come into my parlor.'
The laboratory was partitioned down the middle by tall steel cabinets, and as they walked to one side Garth stood back to watch Stephanie's reaction. At first she was puzzled, then disappointed, then intrigued. It was a strange room, with no shiny equipment, no test tubes or flames or bubbling liquids, not even a microscope. Instead, crowded on a long soapstone berch were children's Tinkertoys: constructions of sticks, wires, balls, bits of plastic, string and paper, in all shapes, sizes and colors. On the floor, boxes overflowed with
more material. Photographs of constructions covered the walls, and a large blackboard, gray with erasures, was filled with labeled diagrams of others. In the comer a
Garth had paid for breakfast, and as they walked across campus he felt suddenly lighthearted, filled with energy. She doesn't live in a castle, he said to himself and, packing a snowball, threw an exuberant pitch at a gnarled tree, where it climg like a white star to the black trunk. He looked at Stephanie's bright face. Tell me about the antique show. Do you know, I've always had a secret desire to fondle a nude statue. Could, this be my chance? Will you have any nude statues?'
Stephanie laughed. What a wonderful day they were going to have. *We will have statues of nudes. If you want nude statues, you will have to undress them.' It was his turn to laugh, and he took her hand securely in his as they walked up ^e steps of the libraiy.
Garth had plenty of time to ponder the contradictions in Stephanie Hartwell before she visited his laboratory in New York. He spent nine Saturdays in Biyn Mawr through the winter and spring and learned about her twin sister and the break between them, still unhealed, and about her parents in Algeria, who would soon move to Washington when her father took up his new position as Under Secretary of State for European Affairs. He heard all about her posh, ridiculously expensive Swiss school, and he learned that her sophistication came in patches from a cra2y upbringing that taught her enough about Europe to fill an encyclopedia but not enough about sex or men to fill one page of a diary. He knew about her quick intelligence, her quiet beauty and friends like Dena who cluster«l around her, offering places to stay over vacations; everyone wanted to give Stephanie a home. And so did Garth. Because he had fallen in love with her.
'1*11 meetyou atyour office/ Stephanie said when he called her at the Cardozos* apartment. 'It's silly for you to pick me up. How do I get there?' He gave her directions and she skipped to her room to dress. Spring vacation in New York: a whole week with Garth, since the Cardozos knew about him and hadn't made plans for her. A week with Garth. She sang it to herself on the subway.
But as she walked to the university, the noise of a crowd cut across her thoughts. It seemed to come from all directions until, turning a comer, Stephanie found herself engulfed in it: the shouts of young people massed together, waving signs and cheering a freckle-faced boy who stood on a truck, yelling hoarsely through a bullhorn. A wall of policemen with linked arms stood between Stephanie and a four-story building whose windows and windowsilk were crowded with shouting, gesturing men and women. Uncertain, she looked about, trying to find an address. She started to ask a policeman, but the noise drowned out her voice. Then, suddenly. Garth was there, his arm around her, walking her quickly past the occupied building and into the one next door.
They rode the elevator to the fourth floor. 'Quite an introduction to my home-sweet-home,' said Garth ruefully. 'If I'd known beforehand, I wouldn't have let you come. But it seems to be a stalemate, so we'll have a quick tour and then get out.'
'I've never been close to a demonstration; Bryn Mawr is so quiet—*
'We've been blessed with them like clockwork. They've almost become part of university life.' He unlocked a door. 'Come into my parlor.'
The laboratory was partitioned down the middle by tall steel cabinets, and as they walked to one side Garth stood back to watch Stephanie's reaction. At first she was puzzled, then disappointed, then intrigued. It was a strange room, with no shiny equipment, no test tubes or flames or bubbling liquids, not even a microscope. Instead, crowded on a long soapstone berch were children's Tinkertoys: constructions of sticks, wires, balls, bits of plastic, string and paper, in all shapes, sizes and colors. On the floor, boxes overflowed with
more material. Photographs of constructions covered the walls, and a large blackboard, gray with erasures, was filled with labeled diagrams of others. In the comer a
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