She hesitated, then nodded.
“If you’ll wait,” she said, and turned away. She got half-way down the passage, then came back. “What is the name, I please?”
“He wouldn’t know my name,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, looking at me again, and went away.
“That’s Laura Maxison,” Tim said. “Maxison thinks a lot of her. Odd little thing, ain’t she?”
I shrugged. “I guess if you had a daughter you’d think a lot of her whichever way she looked.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said.
The door opened again, and a lean, elderly man with a stoop peered at us.
“Good evening,” he said. “Was there something?”
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing him over. He was bald, with a great dome of a forehead, and his eyes were small and close set. He looked what he was, and foxy as well. “Can we come in?”