Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. ” “You mean—you think——” “Hush! I think that he was concealed in my room, and Annabel and he met there. You have neither reason nor logic. He went by another name then,—Rykhart Scherprechter I think he called himself. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. “Well?” she said.
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