Chapter Twenty-TwoGirl Friday
The Ludlows and Mrs. Barrelforth stood in the steaming vestibule of the Borough Hall, along with most of the others who had attended the inquest, and looked at the rain falling on the bare earth of the little yard in front. Two elm trees, with a few brown leaves still clinging to the black branches, quivered in the smoldering wind. Now and then somebody would make up his mind and dart into the rain, to a parked car, to the lunch wagon down the street, to the neon-lit bar and grill across the way.
Mr. Whittlebait came up to pay his respects. “Poorish weather,” he said, giving the bill of his cap a token tug.
“Very poorish,” said Sybil. “What brings you here on a day like this?”
“I come mostly for the ride,” said Mr. Whittlebait. “Kind of breaks the monotony
