“Katy Pfister. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. ” He left off abruptly. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. B.
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