“The way we manage to meet.”
She was setting him at a safe distance in that old way of hers that somehow made her seem so young.
It irritated Northrup now as it never had before.
He had prepared himself for an ordeal, was keyed to a high note, and the quiet, smiling girl near him made it all seem a farce.
This was dangerous. Northrup relaxed.
“It’s been nearly a week since I saw you,” he said, and let his eyes rest upon Mary-Clare’s face.
“Yes, nearly a week,” she said softly, “but it took me all that time to make up my mind.”
“About what?”
“Your book.”
Northrup had forgotten, for the moment, his book, and he resented its introduction.