. . ” “Is it necessary to send for the police?” Anna asked. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. The young lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. . In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. But once I started, Forever Fifteen seemed to fly out of me like a bat out of Hell, virtually writing itself. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously.
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