Going back to the thoroughbred comparison she decided that Perris badly needed to have a race or two under his belt before he would be worked down to normal.

She noted another thing: at close hand he was more handsome.
In the meantime, since she had to talk, it would be pleasanter to find some indirect approach.

One was offered by the fob which hung outside the watchpocket of his trousers.

It was a tarnished, misshapen lump of metal.
"I can't help asking about that fob," she said.

"I've never seen one even remotely like it." He fingered it with a singular smile.
"Tell you about it," he said amiably enough.