" "Right," answered Ireton. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. I thought perhaps you were staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to recognize your old friends. If I do not look after her, she has no one. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay.
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