Girl Meets Body. Jack Iams

      At the front porch, he sat down and emptied the sand out of his shoes. He carried them into the house and upstairs.

      Sybil, in her blue pajamas, sat on the edge of the bed, smoking. “I was watching through the window,” she said. “What was it all about?”

      “Damned if I know,” said Tim. “Couple of guys said they’d been fishing. Maybe they had.”

      “Did they have any fish?”

      “Not that I noticed. But that wouldn’t prove they weren’t fishing.”

      “Were they the sporting type?”

      “I’m no judge of the sporting type.”

      “A pity,” said Sybil. “Maybe I should have gone after all.”

      “They’d certainly have taken you for the sporting type if you had.”

      Sybil snuggled warm against him. “In a ladylike way,” she said, “I am.”