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95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Give me your staff. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. It was a mad half-hour. wonderful.
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