After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. Like carpenter, like chips. Men usually do. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. She could tell that he was leering at her. Tell me that again. There was no rush. Her skin prickled. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. That there Frenchie didn’t look any too friendly to me.
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