Regaining control of herself she passed out without so much as glancing in his direction.
To her surprise the man did not follow.
“May not have recognized us.” This was more a wish than a hope.
Hurrying across the street they mounted to their room.
“Um-m! How cozy!” she exclaimed. “Let’s not put the light on for awhile.”
Stepping to the window, she saw the car stop at the next crossing. A man got off.
Turning, he walked back in the direction in which he had come.
“He will ring our bell,” she told herself in a small panic. “And then?”
But he did not ring. After a tremulous ten minutes of waiting, she whispered to herself:
“Came back for our street number. That’s bad. Angelo was right. The fight of Maxwell Street is not our fight.”