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 You never can tell where they will be.

I don't remember that we've passed any.

Sometimes they hide behind the walls.

It was evident, this time, that the girl thought he was lying to her. You don't think I'm nice or you wouldn't say that! she whimpered.

In desperation Paul appealed to the chauffeur.

Sam, have you seen any cops?

You can't spot 'em on this road, sir. They hide. But we ain't goin' fast enough to matter. Barely ten miles.

This corroboration had a brightening effect on Wintergreen. I really didn't believe, Paul, she averred, that you would treat me like a bad girl.

As Paul had foreseen, the inn was practically deserted. To be sure, the dining-room already held one occupant, but he was assuredly too drunk to be observant. His head and arms sprawled on the table before him. A high-ball glass had been overturned and the table was wet with its contents, which still dripped to the floor. Paul gave one glance at this dilapidated figure and then forgot about it.

A phonograph in one corner of the room, fortified with a repeater and an electric attachment, was negotiating without respite a curious, languid strain, sung by a Negress: