And Jack found the phrase soothing whenever she uttered it, and plunged straightway into further revelations of his ebullient past.
"I suppose," he ventured, when he could think of nothing more to tell and so came back to the starting point, "I ought to beat it outa here while the beating's good.

I can't go back--on account of mother.

I could hotfoot it up to Canada, maybe...." "Don't you do it!" Marion wound the string of her vanity bag so tightly round and round her index finger that her pink, polished nail turned purple.

She next unwound the string and rubbed the nail solicitously.

"Just because we're down there at Toll-Gate doesn't mean you aren't safe up here.