’ ‘She’s as clothheaded as you,’ Roding retorted, but he slipped an arm about the lady’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. Even the stars were strangers. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. At length, when he saw no escape from the inevitable, he took the four title pages from the manuscripts and typed new ones, substituting Taber for Spurlock. Got the day off. ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care.
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