She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. The Return 231 II. Cathy answered the phone. Charley Pevenill was our host. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. Things got hot and heavy in the car the next night, and he peeled off her skirt and top to reveal her underwear. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it.
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