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Punshon, E. R. (Ernest Robertson), 1872-1956

"The Bittermeads Mystery"

A very little more and the lovely
thing of life he watched would be broken and cold for ever. Her
eyes were steady, she showed no sign of fear, she stood perfectly
still, her hands loosely clasped together before her. He groaned,
and his arms fell to his side, helpless. Without the slightest
change of expression, she said:
"What were you going to do?"
"I don't know," he answered. "Do you ever go mad? I do, I think.
Perhaps you do too, and that explains it. Do you know where Charley
Wright is?"
"Yes," she answered directly. "Why? Did you know him, then?"
"You know where he is now?" Dunn repeated.
She nodded quietly.
"I heard from him only last week," she said.
"I am certainly mad or you are," he muttered, staring at her with
eyes in which such wonder and horror showed that it seemed there
really was a touch of madness there.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"You heard from him last week," he said again, and again she
answered:
"Yes--last week. Why not?"
He leaned forward, and before she knew what he intended to do he
kissed her pale, cool cheek.
Once more she stood still and immobile, her hands loosely clasped
before her. It might have been that he had kissed a statue, and
her perfect stillness made him afraid.
"Ella," he said. "Ella."
"Why did you do that?" she said, a little wildly now in her turn.


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