Even Juden shrank away from her fury.
But like all women, she had hit the nail on the thumb. That was the difference between this girl in the photograph and Myra. Whereas Myra had character, this girl had none. She had that loose, cruel expression on her face that you so often see in the face of a wanton woman. Make no mistake about it, this girl was bad right through, but it wasn’t until it was pointed out to me, that I realized it.
“Take it easy,” I said. “The red light’s showing on your pressure gauge.”
“So this is the hooker who’s impersonating me,” Myra said, controlling herself with an effort.
She studied the photograph intently. “And look at that smug, I’ve-got-the-bone expression on my dear parent’s face. This is some of his work. I’ll make him suffer for this!”
Juden was clawing at his collar nervously. He quite expected that she would turn on him at any moment.
“Well, P. J.,” 1 said. “Do you see how Maddox’s been fooled now?”
“What can we say to him?” Juden groaned. “You know Maddox. The other papers would rib him for weeks. Besides, he wouldn’t believe it.”
“He wouldn’t?” Myra twisted round in her chair so that she faced Juden, who shrank as far away as he could from her. “Don’t you think I could persuade him?”
“You might,” Juden returned feebly. “Yes, I guess with your character you could do pretty near anything.”