“Wow. I thought I'd been sufficiently explicit," continued Jonathan. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. Occasionally he revealed tidbits about his past after a good kill. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. You'll be wasting his time. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. .
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