The girl was waiting for him in the areaway, huddled in a blanket. They had given Fallon one, too, but his cotton trunks were still clammy cold against him. He stood looking down at the girl, his short brown hair unkempt, the hard lines of his face showing sharp and haggard.
"Well," he said. "What are you waiting for?"
"To thank you. You saved my life."
"You're welcome," said Fallon. "Now you'd better go before I contaminate you."
"That's not fair. I am grateful, Webb. Truly grateful."
Fallon would have shrugged, but it hurt. "All right," he said wearily. "You can tell Madge what a little hero I was."
"Please don't leave me," she whispered. "I haven't any place to go. All my clothes and money were in the apartment."
He looked at her, his eyes cold and probing. Brief disappointment touched him, and he was surprised at himself. Then he went deeper, into the clear sapphire eyes, and was ashamed—which surprised him even more.
"What's your name?" he asked. "And why haven't you fainted?"
"Joan Daniels," she said. "And I haven't had time."