Eugene Snow stood very
straight, his hands in his coat pockets, looking, Peter supposed,
with interest at the arrangements of kitchen conveniences. His
next terse sentence fairly staggered Peter. He looked him
straight in the eye and inquired casually: "Chosen your dream
woman to fit your house, Morrison?"
Peter was too surprised to conceal his feelings. His jaws
snapped together; a belligerent look sprang into his eyes.
"I have had a good deal to do with houses," continued Mr. Snow.
"They are my life work. I find that invariably they are built
for a woman. Almost always they are built from her plans, and
for her pleasure. It's a new house, a unique house, a wonderful
house you're evolving here. It must be truly a wonderful woman
you're dreaming about while you build it."
That was a nasty little trap. With his years and worldly
experience Peter should not have fallen into it; but all men are
children when they are sick, heart sick or body sick, and Peter
was a very sick man at that minute. He had been addressed in
such a frank and casual manner. His own brain shot off at queer
tangents and led him constantly into unexpected places. The
narrow side lane that opened up came into view so suddenly that
Peter, with the innocence of a four-year-old, turned with
military precision at the suggestion and looked over the premises
for the exact location of Linda. Eugene Snow had seen for
himself the thing that Katy had told him he would see if he
looked for it.
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