He shuddered. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. But be patient, I am your fast friend. Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground. No trouble will ever come to your sister through me. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. I have proofs of many things that can endanger you. I had to go at a moment’s notice. He reached over and took her hand. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments.
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