Spurlock. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. “She has one, that’s why. She took a deep breath. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. ’ ‘She’s as clothheaded as you,’ Roding retorted, but he slipped an arm about the lady’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. “Very well,” he said.
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