The Sprouts of Wrath
“Both mental and physical. He leant Marchant against Jennifer’s front fence and made what efforts he could to straighten his necktie and slick down his hair over the bald spot at the back. He shook the wrinkles from his trousers and gathered up what serviceable lilies remained into a pleasing composition. With unconvincing nonchalance, he pushed open the front gate, walked up the short path and rapped upon the front door. All looked the very picture of normality. Porsche in the garage, downstair...s lights on. Presently, in response to his knockings, sounds issued from within, footsteps upon the parquet floor, bolts being drawn.
The front door opened on the chain and Jennifer looked out, cool, sophisticated, composed. “John Omally,” she said in a toneless voice, “I was expecting you.”
Indeed, thought John, as she dropped the chain and reopened the door. “I’ve brought you some flowers.”
Jennifer took the lilies and stared down at them with a face of pity.MoreLess
The front door opened on the chain and Jennifer looked out, cool, sophisticated, composed. “John Omally,” she said in a toneless voice, “I was expecting you.”
Indeed, thought John, as she dropped the chain and reopened the door. “I’ve brought you some flowers.”
Jennifer took the lilies and stared down at them with a face of pity.MoreLess
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