“Cute blonde,” she said, “nice figure but unusually small.”
We started on again, rode for about five minutes, then the trailer lurched to one side as the car turned off the pavement and into a graveled driveway.
“This is my next stop,” she said. “You sure you don’t want to come along?”
“No, I’ll wait.”
She took her camera and a supply of flashbulbs, pulled the raincoat to one side, straightened her stockings, fluffed out her scanty skirt, said, “How do I look?”
“Like a million dollars.”
“Thanks.”
“Who’s driving the car?” I asked.
“My partner.”
“Boy friend?”