Pure romantic nonsense on her part. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. I’d do anything, Vee. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes.
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