She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself. ' He muttered it continually. " "I'm satisfied with your assurance," replied the carpenter, drily. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. ” The detective went down on his hands and knees. All these circumstances,—slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,—touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. You must know that.
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