Sheppard put out her arms mechanically. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Good riddance. He opened the drawer of the writing table. CHAPTER IX. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. “I find it very hard to write this letter. “I do not know. " "You are interested?" "In a way, naturally. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house.
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