But I dare not accept it. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly. “So, since when does a grown man have to sneak behind the Laundromat to smoke a cigarette?” She asked 115 him. You’re all dependents—all of you. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. As a matter of fact, I had never spoken to him before in my life.
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