‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. Giles Bowl I. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. "God in Heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood.
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