Those bitter crusts

We had run into another shower, and big drops splashed and starred the windshield. The car slewed overfast around a sharp bend in the road, and rubber whined on the wet tarmac. He hadn't once so much as glanced at me. He was probably hardly aware of who it was he had in the car. So much for Cinderella.
I sat quietly beside him and nibbled the bitter crusts of common sense.

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Nine Coaches Waiting
by Mary Stewart