Jeremiah Jackson's double. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. Earles watched her anxiously. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. “Forgive me,” he said. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. I can’t. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. “There is something which I must say to you. No matter.
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