Being Yours
Even her pony-tail hung limp over one shoulder as if strangled by its rubber band.
'There won't, of course/ Paul said from the door, 'be any more hoaxes, booby-traps etc.' He was telling, not asking. 'I take it Sorenson is a colleague?' he went on to Robert. 'He'd probably be interested to hear about all this. And so would the people whose pets you visited, Sarah.'
'Why, you . . .' Robert had shot to his feet, and stood with legs braced apart and fists clenched, a picture of baffled rage. 'Get out, both of you. I don't want to see or hear from either of you, ever again.'
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