Sir Egerton Brydges, 1928 "It was not some smartass kid," Joan insisted. "The driver was a woman." "How do you know?" Peggy demanded. "You didn't see any more than I did. I didn't turn until I heard Bill shout, and by that time there was nothing to be seen except bodies flying through the air. For a few interminable seconds I thought . . . Excuse me. I need another drink." At the time she had been the calmest person on the scene. After ascertaining that Karen was unhurt except for bumps and bruises, she had dragged her to the car and driven her straight home, leaving Joan to tend the other victim. She and Sharon had arrived shortly afterward. Sharon was trying to be the cool voice of reason, but she hadn't made much progress; everyone else was shouting and interrupting and contradicting one another, and a cool voice of reason is not supposed to yell. Joan followed Peggy, presumably on the same errand, and Sharon finally got her chance. "The important thing is that no one was seriously injured," she said in her measured professional voice.
