Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster. Not alone with her, that’s sure. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. There was more shouting. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August.
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