“The longer you stay here, you really become part of the street,” moya told The Daily Beast.
moya's jaw dropped when he caught sight of me—apparently he had been told only to expect an agent—but he recovered quickly.
moya responded as if he had been waiting with his finger on the stud.
"For Heaven's sake, don't be a prude, moya," Joyce snapped irritably.
After several hours of sweat-agony, moya's voice came over the horn.
moya waited behind as in devotion while Rigden locked that fatal door for the last time.
Verinder helped himself to a sandwich, ogling moya the while with his eyeglass.
He had in essence lied to moya and to the cousins who had offered to stand shoulder to shoulder with him in his trouble.
moya, patrolling the willow walk in front of the Lodge, took this in with a chuckle.
His wife had persuaded him that moya needed a talking to, but he was glad to be through with it.