Shippy, the little man with the sharp rat-eyes, Came behind her and put his hands on her waist. She let him turn her around. He held her awhile While his eyes tried to look at her and over his shoulder At once and couldn’t. She felt his poor body shake But she didn’t think much about it. He murmured something. She shook her head with the air of a frightened doll And he let her go. “Well, I got to go anyway,” He said, in a gloomy voice. “I’m late as it is, But I thought that maybe⁠—” He let the sentence trail off.

“What do you want, next time I come back?” he said.