I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. But he. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him.
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