"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. "Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce.
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