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Mr. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. ” “You are,” he answered unconsciously. Can you come over?” “I think so. “She must,” said Mr. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. Tell me. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs.
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