Terry felt grateful to Clara Lynn for remembering him. At least, he supposed she remembered him, because there he was in the great drawing room and she hadn't even asked his name. And, after all, when you kept inheriting a couple of million bucks every time you had a birthday you didn't have to remember any one. You didn't have to go to Qalornia, either, if you didn't feel like it. Millions meant you could carry out any whim, or discard it without notice.
He was surprised and grateful when she poured Scotch for buth of them. He'd met her only once before, at a Park Avenue cocktail party. On that occasion he'd parted with a chunk of his robt money to persuade the butler to bring her some tea, a beverage apparently unknown to his hostess. After that Ha figured that Clara Lynn didn't use Scotch.
An hour went by and Miss Lynn kept on talking. She was doing more than justice, now, to the excellent Scotch. Terry realized that she didn't know him from Adam. He wondered how he'd gotten in the front door. He noticed, too, how haggard her face was. Perhaps his sister had been right when she said troubled ladies liked to talk to strangers.
Photo by Skvirsky. meeting on Thursday when Plant, Yulin A plane roared down the river and landed. below them. She listened until the roar died away, and then whispered, "How I hate planes!"
Terry jumped and opened his mouth, but Clara Lynn went right on talking. "It's a tragic thing, too much money," she said. She had moved over in front of the huge fireplace, and because she looked so little and so plain he almost believed her.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.