"I think she twisted her ankle.
It's an occasional penance the women make for wearing these high-heeled
shoes, you know."
He looked at her again. Her form was bent toward the white-haired man who
was with her. The man was staring straight over at Philip, a strange
searching look in his face as he listened to what she was saying. He
seemed to question Philip through the short distance that separated them.
And then the woman turned her head slowly, and once more Philip met her
eyes squarely--deep, dark, glowing eyes that thrilled him to the quick of
his soul. He did not try to understand what he saw in them. Before he
turned his glance to Barrow he saw that color had swept back into her
face; her lips were parted; he knew that she was struggling to suppress a
tremendous emotion.
Barrow was looking at him curiously--and Philip went on with his story of
Peter God. He told it in a lower voice. Not until he had finished did he
look again in the direction of the other table. The woman had changed her
position slightly, so that he could not see her face. The uptilt of her
hat revealed to him the warm soft glow of shining coils of brown hair. He
was sure that her escort was keeping watch of his movements.
Suddenly Barrow drew his attention to a man sitting alone a dozen tables
from them.
"There's DeVoe, one of the Amalgamated chiefs," he said. "He has almost
finished, and I want to speak to him before he leaves.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230