But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. A door in this house opened upon the yard. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. “It might be a policeman borrowing the driveway and looking out for speeders. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. “Well, make sure you use something. I don’t quite know why. The truth was impossible, indecent.
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