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She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. Michelle and Missy chatted vigorously in the front seat, oblivious to both the world and other cars on the road. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town.
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