This preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.
Unformatted text preview: ore f^^ twenty-five. The other, older, thinner, and a little tougher-looking aTl around, asked: "Why?" "I should have burnt the house the way Carlotta wanted." "What house?" demanded Lark. Neither man answered him. He asked the question again, but he realized they were not even listening to him. He said nothing more. The lobby of the building was lined with uniformed security offi- 321 cers, policemen, other seemingly official personnel, some of whom looked at them impassively. Lark saw the big limo hovering out there in the putrid glare of the mercury lights. "What about Rowan!" he said. "Is anybody still looking for Rowan!" He stopped in his tracks. But again, neither man answered. Neither man seemed even to hear. There was nothing to be done but get into the leather-lined car. Icebox pie. The Pontchartrain had just about the best icebox pie he had ever tasted. He didn't think he wanted anything else. Just coffee and chicory and icebox pie . . . "That's what I want when we get back. Icebox pie and coffee." "Sure thing,...
View Full Document
- Spring '10