She seemed to read his thoughts. "It’s all right,” she said, looking down at him “I’m not going to trap you into anything. It’s just that I have a lot of clothes and it pleases me to help you. What do you say?”
Still George hesitated. The suggestion was preposterous. He had set out as a desperate bandit, and now the girl he had planned to rob was actually going to give him what he wanted.
“Do make up your mind,” she said, throwing away her cigarette. “It’s getting late, and I ought to be home.”
He got slowly to his feet. “I don’t know what to say,” he muttered, looking at her uneasily. “It’s fantastic.”
“No, it isn’t. You’re nervous I’ll send for the police, aren’t you? I won’t. I promise.”
He remembered Cora’s promise. Women made promises lightly, he warned himself, but looking at her he was inclined to believe her. Anyway, if he became suspicious he had his gun… and he’d use it, too!
“Well, thanks,” he said. “I think it’s awfully decent of you,” and he opened the cab door for her.
“Has she my colouring?” the girl asked, sitting on the little turn-up seat so that she could talk to George as he drove. Cora had her colouring all right, but that was as far as the resemblance went. She had a better figure, more character in her face than this girl—not that this girl wasn’t nice looking. In a way, George preferred her to Cora. She hadn’t Cora’s sulky expression, nor the lines near her mouth. She had a better skin than Cora’s, and her hair was more beautiful. But that didn’t mean she was more exciting than Cora: she wasn’t. There was something about Cora which tortured George. He knew this girl would never torture him. "Yes,” he said. “She’s about your size, and she’s got hair like yours.”
“What do you think she’d like?” the girl asked. “Would she like a frock, or a costume, or a coat and skirt?”
Was she pulling his leg? George wondered. Had she got so many things to give away?