"You were right!" he said suddenly. "There are queerer, stranger affairs
in life than one fancies! And I--I've been pitchforked--thrown--clean
into the middle of things! I!"
Miss Penkridge came closer to him, staring. She looked from him to the
glass, from the glass to him.
"No--I haven't been drinking," said Viner with a harsh laugh. "I'm
drinking now, and I'm going to have another, too. Listen!"
He pushed her gently into a chair, and seating himself on the edge of the
table, told her the adventure. And Miss Penkridge, who was an admirable
listener to fictitious tales of horror, proved herself no less admirable
in listening to one of plain fact, and made no comment until her nephew
had finished.
"That poor man!" she said at last. "Such a fine, strong, healthy-looking
man, too! I used to wonder about him, when I saw him in the square, I
used to think of him as somebody who'd seen things!"
Viner made a sudden grimace.
"Don't!" he said. "Ugh! I've seen things tonight that I never wished to
see! And I wish--"
"What?" demanded Miss Penkridge after a pause, during which Viner had sat
staring at the floor.
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