Wait a little; rest. Jack appealed to the new auditors, and again detailed his story, but with no better success than heretofore. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. Sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen.
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