The Murder of a Fifth Columnist
““—I’ve had dinner already, coming down on the train.”
She was almost as tall as her mother, with that sort of heart-breaking clarity and youngness that no amount of bright red lipstick seems to affect. She had on the uniform of her age—a brown skirt and tan sweater and checked jacket, with a short fur coat over her arm and a brown felt hat in her hand. Her hair was reddish gold, cut in a long loosely curled bob, and her eyes were the color of tawny sherry with the sunlight shining through i...t.
“She’s really lovely,” I thought, my mind searching like mad—and in vain—for some explanation of this fantastic situation. And no one could possibly have guessed what the situation was. The bewildered uncertain look in her face could so easily have been embarrassment at bursting in on a dinner party the day before she was expected that nobody could think it was odd at all.
“Please go on in,” she said to her mother.MoreLess
She was almost as tall as her mother, with that sort of heart-breaking clarity and youngness that no amount of bright red lipstick seems to affect. She had on the uniform of her age—a brown skirt and tan sweater and checked jacket, with a short fur coat over her arm and a brown felt hat in her hand. Her hair was reddish gold, cut in a long loosely curled bob, and her eyes were the color of tawny sherry with the sunlight shining through i...t.
“She’s really lovely,” I thought, my mind searching like mad—and in vain—for some explanation of this fantastic situation. And no one could possibly have guessed what the situation was. The bewildered uncertain look in her face could so easily have been embarrassment at bursting in on a dinner party the day before she was expected that nobody could think it was odd at all.
“Please go on in,” she said to her mother.MoreLess
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