beside me now stopped these old sensations. My mind brought to me the night he'd come and told me how "Keeban" must have taken away Dorothy Crewe; it brought me to the police station where, that same night, he broke away; it brought me to the Flamingo Feather where I danced with Doris, calling her Cleopatra. It brought me to Caldon's, where I happened on her "shoving the queer"; it took me to the Blackstone and the train and to that supper with her again. It took me to that closet where I'd kissed her, as I had never kissed any girl before.
Here we were, caught together, with Keeban going once more into the glass room. He went himself and picked up the rabbits and flung them at our feet on the floor.
"How about it now?" he said to me. "What's the order? The lady first?"
I swore at him. He had my nerve, you see. I swore and strained at the cords on my hands. A lot of good it did me. He laughed.
"All right, Steve!" said Doris to me. "All right!" Quickly but calmly she said it. Calmly is not the word. It doesn't do at all. No word would. "All right, Steve!"
"All right, Doris!" I said in reply. Of
