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Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. "Then his case is hopeless. I want to talk to Mr. You must remember, you've just begun to read; you haven't any comparisons. " So saying, he slung it upon his wrist. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. Perhaps, after all, the others were right.
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