She looked at him curiously. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. ” He made a grand gesture towards the car, his smile broadening. Here, put it on your finger. I suppose I ought to have been a man. " "You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree.
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