“At first she thought it was Irv Rattenfanger; it was his ’34 Buick, but loaded with boxes and crates. A rack had been welded to the top and it was full, too. She halted, catching her breath, and then she recognized Roger Lindahl, the man who had drunk up her bottle of wine at the Rattenfangers’ party. He was crammed into the front seat with the boxes. Waving merrily, he parked the car and got out to run around and leap up on the curb. Today his mood was buoyant, but she shrank away. One of thos...e sub-rational forebodings, bound up in childhood experience and bad luck, began to plague her as soon as she recognized him. “Hello,” she said. “You seem happy today.” “I just got my Government check,” he said. “I’ve been driving around; your roommate said you ought to be home any time. You just getting off work?” He was drawing her toward the parked car. “Hop in and I’ll ride you home.” “There’s no room in there,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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