Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. She thought me— filthy. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. "Hoity-toity! You owe me sixteen thousand dollars. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience.
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