“Hah! I can do that!” scoffed Lem.
“You're both of you wicked men, then,” said Gay, but lightly.
Lorna took Lem's hand.
“Come around the house with me,” she said. “I want you to help me pick a lot of syringas for Gay,” and she dragged Lem away. Freeman seated himself beside Gay.
Freeman Todder was not twenty-five, but something hard in his face and eyes made him look older at times. His face was thin and his mouth like a healed wound, so thin were his lips. He did not have much chin. He did not look wholesome. He looked unsafe and cruel.
“L-i-q-u-o-r,” he spelled, and looked at Gay and laughed. “C-a-r-d-s. Also d-i-c-e. I'm a regular Satan, ain't I?”
“Oh, Freeman!” she said reproachfully. “Don't be sarcastic. We were only—”
“Only talking me over. Well, that's something, anyway. That's a sort of flattery.”
He laid his cane across his knees.
“You have been drinking, Freeman,” Gay said.