" "Who are they?" inquired Sheppard. ’ ‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. ’ ‘Dunderhead.
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