"I reckon I couldn't make you understand how I despise you—and hate you! I'd rather be kin to the poorest beggar who sweeps the streets down there than to you," she flamed, flinging before him a paper.
Warily he picked it up and glanced at it, still covering me carefully.
"This is the map, is it?"
"You may see for yourself," she blazed.
"It is really very good of you to ask me to keep it for you, Evie. I'll take good care of it—not a doubt of that. It's far better in my hands than yours, for of course you might be robbed."
His impudent smile derided her contempt. For me—I wouldn't have faced that look of hers for twenty maps.
"We're not through with you yet," I told him.
In gay reproof he shook a finger at me.
"Ah! There speaks the lawyer. You'll bring an action, will you?"
It annoyed me to be playing so poor a part before Miss Wallace.