She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. But—if you are a friend of Mr. ‘Tee-ree-sa. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line.
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