"Them ain't one-two-three-six to the duds I'm going to hang on you. I know her; she's an old-timer. Them duds ain't one-two-three-six."
"Gee—Jerry!"
In the heart of a silence as deep as a bottomless pool, with the black hours that tiptoe on the heels of midnight shrouding her like a nun's wimple, limbs trembling and her hands reluctant, Sadie Barnet knocked lightly at her door, once, twice, thrice, and between each rap her heart beat with twice its tempo against her breast.
Then her stealthy hand turned the white china knob and released it so that it sprang backward with a click.
"Who's that?"
"Me, Dee Dee."
Her voice was swathed in a whisper.
She could hear the plong of the bedspring, the patter of bare feet across the floor; feel the slight aperture of the opening door. She oozed through the slit.
"All right, Dee Dee."
"God! I—I must have been sound asleep. What time is it?"