Already she felt comforted.
Of course Peter was a rock, of course anyone could trust him, and of course if the tempest of life beat upon her too strongly she could always fly to Peter.
"May I ?" she inquired, stretching her hand in the direction of a sheet.
"Sure," said Peter.
"What is it ?" inquired Linda lightly.

"The bridge or the road or the playroom ?" "Gad!" he said slowly.

"Don't talk about me being a rock! Rocks are stolid, stodgy unresponsive things.

I thought I was struggling with one of the biggest political problems of the day from an economic and psychological standpoint.

If I'd had sense enough to realize that it was a bridge I was building, I might have done the thing with some imagination and subtlety.