F. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. Only a book detective could dope this out. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart.
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