"Saddle before the post, my touchstone."
The girl sat down. Her green eyes were moving, always moving, but mostly over Malloy, his chair, the table. "You going to keep possession here long?"
"I don't know any reason why not," said Malloy.
"Of course you don't!" she snapped. "Only—they close at five."
"The billboard gives it two dozen hours a day."
"They trim a little off at five. To sweep the floors and change the tableshrouds."
"Change 'em from one table to another," Malloy jibed.
"You formed it. Clean ones in front, dirty ones in the shadows. Let's try breathing air," she suggested.
"Wait'll we gate up. I've got pecans to drink."