Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. From midnight until morning he was now left alone. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. He remained talking with her however. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. ” She had spoken rather rapidly. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know.
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