She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. She glimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to the fishmongers. She heard him come in; the light burned on. " "That fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed Mrs. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. CHAPTER XXII.
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