Christina snored gently, Molly slept with her head under her pillow, a habit, she said, acquired when her sister complained that she talked in her sleep. Outside a mist like gauze was on the lakes, full of the small noises of ducks. Janet made her way to Masters Hall feeling cheerful and virtuous; this was a mood she knew could shatter in a moment into irritability, but perhaps this once it wouldn't. The English 10 classroom was the smallest she had been in so far. There were five people in the room when Janet arrived, and she sat well to the back, remembering Melinda Wolfe's stricture. By eight-thirty there were nineteen people, most of them yawning and all of them looking apprehensive. At eight thirty-six Professor Evans walked in. He and Janet's father did not get along very well. He had been over for dinner a few times; he had worn jeans and a Chemistry Department T-shirt, and talked politics with her parents and elephants with Andrew. He was a slight, fair man in his forties, with a sharp face, pale eyes, and reddish hair.
