CHAPTER 8As I came up in front of the Villa I stopped, so abruptly that I stalled my engine. Across the street, parked against the high curb of the park, I saw Phyllis’s maroon car with the mustard leather seats. I started the engine again, parked the car and got out. I went up the broad steps, and as I did Phyllis disengaged herself from a group of people and came smiling radiantly to meet me.
“Darling! Good morning!”
She was as fresh and lovely as the bunch of spring flowers c****d on her blue straw hat, and I thought about as natural. She took my arm.
“You must have thought I was a pig, last night,” she said…not contritely, just cheerfully. “Well, I’ve just been to see John Michener. He’s a lawyer, and he says what I knew, of course, that they don’t have divorces in South Carolina li
