She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. Major said you’d gorn. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. She could think of nothing more to say. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. Her figure was, in some measure, hidden by a large scarf, and a deep hood drawn over the head contributed to her disguise; still it was evident, from her lofty bearing, that she had nothing in common, except an interest in their proceedings, with the crew by whom she was surrounded.
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