" "You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader. He filled her glass with champagne. ” Mike knocked on the thin core door that sealed her and Shari’s bedroom from the outside world. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. “Yes, but maybe later. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. " "How?" exclaimed the other. " "No more of this," interrupted Thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses.
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