As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door.
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