It's the solar plexus punch which puts
one's better self down and out for the count of ten. I am a large and
healthy young man, and, believe me, I need this little snack. I need it
badly. May I cut you a slice of chicken?"
She could hardly bear to look at it, but pride gave her strength.
"No," she snapped.
"You're sure? Poor little thing; I know you're half starved."
Eve stamped.
"How dare you speak to me like that, Mr. Rayner?"
He drank bottled beer thoughtfully.
"What made you come down? I suppose you heard a noise and thought it
was burglars?" he said.
"Yes," said Eve, thankfully accepting the idea. At all costs she must
conceal the biscuit motive.
"That was very plucky of you. Won't you sit down?"
"No, I'm going back to bed."
"Not just yet. I've several things to talk to you about. Sit down.
That's right. Now cover up your poor little pink ankles, or you'll be
catching----"
She started up.
"Mr. Rayner!"
"Sit down."
She looked at him defiantly, then, wondering at herself for doing it,
sat down.
"Now," said Peter, "what do you mean by it? What do you mean by dashing
off from my sister's house without leaving a word for me as to where
you were going? You knew I loved you.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65