Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art.
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