—'How so?' says I. Well, let him be honest. The Tigress is second-hand, built for coast-trade. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. She wanted him so badly it hurt. He was always visualizing the Hand whenever he let his gaze rest upon the horizon. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. In any event, I explained that no one lived here and that we’d been called in because of suspected intruders. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms.
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