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He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. After all, that was life. “Why not? It might amuse me. . ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air.
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