Shotwell had met the majority of Palla’s dinner guests. Seated on her right, he received from his hostess information concerning some of those he did not know.
“That rather talkative boy with red hair is Larry Rideout,” she said in a low voice. “He edits a weekly 209 called The Coming Race. The Post Office authorities have refused to pass it through the mails. It’s rather advanced, you know.”
“Who is the girl on his right––the one with the chalky map?”
“Questa Terrett. Don’t you think her pallor is fascinating?”
“No. What particular stunt does she perform?”
“Don’t be flippant. She writes.”
“Ads?”
“Jim! She writes poems. Haven’t you seen any of them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“They’re rather modern poems. The lines don’t rhyme and there’s no metrical form,” explained Palla.