She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. ’ Even as they watched, a shadow passed across one of the apertures.
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