Within the office, the manager deposited the half-limp Gloria in a chair facing the desk and poured a small cognac. "Drink this, my dear. You'll feel so much better."

The other man spoke now for the first time, speaking in the Mar- seilles dialect as the manager had. His voice had a strange rasp to it as he said "Find out if she knows anything." It was a command.

Sensing this, Gloria sat up and looked at him. "Oh, are you Italian." She smiled. "I used to go with an Italian. ‘Te amo.' That means 'I love you.' ." The other man, visible in the office-light now showed an un- mistakable look of disgust, as he turned back to the manager.

"I would be surprised if she could read ‘Stop' signs without moving her lips!" Apparently she had concealed her knowledge of the language.

The manager shrugged, expansively. "With a shape like that, she doesn't need to know anything," he continued in English. "Why were you in the hall?”

"I couldn't sleep."

"Didn't you know that you aren't allowed in the halls at night?"

"Nobody told me-except that Sheila, and I thought she was mak- ing a joke."

"But didn't you find the door locked?”

Gloria smiled brightly. "Yes, but I remembered something about locks I read in a detective story and I took a stay out of my new corse- let," and with this, her fingers explored the edges of the gleaming gar- ment, carelessly it seemed, spilling more of her bosom into view. “Oh, dear. Now he's torn it and I just spent ten pounds on it!" Gloria seemed more concerned on the ruin done to her garment than respond- ing to any sense that she was on trial here. "And I really needed that!" The manager seemed mystified, both at the exposure of flesh and at the reasoning or lack of it.

"Just one little thing, my pet. Why do you need such an elaborate, ah—” and his expressive hands described the uplifting effect.

continued on page 72

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