She was in no mood to be convinced by such a thing, would
probably have insisted that some one was wearing a second-hand
pair of his shoes.
Kennedy's eye had been travelling around the room as though
searching for something.
"May I have a cigarette out of that case over there?" he asked,
indicating a box of them on a table.
"Why--that is Mr. Lockwood's," she replied. "He left it here the
last time he was here and I forgot to send it to him. Wait a
minute. Let me get you some of father's."
She left the room. The moment the door closed Kennedy reached over
and took one from the case. "I have some of Lockwood's already,
but another won't matter, as long as I can get it," he said. "I
thought it was her father's. When she brings them, smoke one with
me, and be careful to save the stub. I want it."
A moment later she entered with a metal box that must have held
several hundred. Kennedy and I each took one and lighted it, then
for several minutes chatted as an excuse for staying. As for
myself, I was glad enough to leave a pretty large stub, for I did
not like it. These cigarettes, like those Whitney had offered us,
had a peculiar flavour which I had not acquired a liking for.
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