“You don’t need to tell me that. You’ve been leading with your face again.”
“Does it look bad?”
“Terrible.”
I walked over to the full-length mirror. A table had been moved so it was possible to see my reflection clear across the room. On the table, still in its original silver foil wrapper, was Bertha’s second chocolate bar. There was quite a bit of dust on my clothes. My face had a queer lopsided look to it.
Bertha asked, “What was the fight about?”
“The first one was because someone thought I was tampering with the machines.”
“And you fought over that?”
“No. I got arrested.”
“I gathered as much. What happened after that?”
“I saw the girl again. Where’s Whitewell?”