"
"What's the story about?" demanded Ricky.
"It's laid in Haiti during the French invasion led by Napoleon's
brother-in-law, the one who married Pauline. All voodoo and aristocratic
young hero and beautiful maiden pursued by an officer of the black
rebels. And," she almost wailed, "here I am with the clothes spread all
over my bed--the right costumes, you know--with no one to wear them. I
went over to the Corners this morning and called Johnson--he runs a
registration office for models--but he couldn't promise me anyone." She
bit absent-mindedly into a round spiced roll Ricky had placed before
her.
"Wait!" She laid down the roll in a preoccupied fashion and stared
across the table. "Val, stand up."
Wondering, he pushed back his chair and arose obediently.
"Turn your head a little more to the right," Charity ordered. "There,
that's it! Now try to look as if there were something all ready to
spring at you from that corner over there."
For one angry moment he thought that she had been told of what had
happened the night before and was baiting him, as the others had done.
But a sidewise glance showed him that her interest lay elsewhere. So he
screwed up his features into what he fondly hoped was a grim and deadly
smile.
"For goodness sake, don't look as if you had eaten green apples," Ricky
shot at him. "Just put on that face you wear when I show you a new hat.
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