“Please,” said Fay.
He might have been addressing a princess. Her color returned in rippling waves. She tried to smile. Her lips trembled—she took one step in his direction, swayed, and pressed her fists to her breast.
The Dropper’s form completely filled the doorway.
“Come here!” he snarled.
“Hold on!” snapped Fay.
“Come ’ere, yuh!”
The girl between the two men, made her choice, or rather, had it made for her.
Shrinkingly demure, and altogether tearful, she pressed by the Dropper and glided across the den where the poppy-smokers lay.
“Go to bed!”
Fay saw the brute’s chin move in a slow circle over his shelving shoulder. He swung back his jaw.