He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. This she put into the trunk. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut.
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