"I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. Suddenly she had become afraid. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. I never could. Then with an indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert manner. You disgust me. He laughed reassuringly. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke.
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