” The brutality of his first astonishment was evaporating. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. Are these folks your current foster parents?” “Yes.
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