’ ‘I think he only wants to help you, miss,’ offered Jack. She did not therefore reveal to him that he had guaged her with accuracy. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. ” She stepped into the curtains as Martin stared daggers. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks.
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