Inside, Sheila sat woodenly on the little sofa, pretending to see none of them. Mother Corey looked from one to the other, and then back to Gordon. "Well? You must have had some reason for bringing her here, cobber."
"I want her out of my hair, Mother," Gordon tried to explain. "I can lock her up—carrying a g*n without a permit is reason enough. But I'd rather you kept her here, if you'll take the responsibility. After all, she's your granddaughter."
"So she is. That's why I wash my hands of her. I couldn't control myself at her age, couldn't control my son, and I don't intend to handle a female of my line. It looks as if you'll have to arrest her."
"Okay. Suppose I rent a room and put a good lock on it. You've got the one that connects with mine vacant."
"I run a respectable house now
