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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Dark House"

We understand. But you don't belong. You are
outside."
"I don't see, at any rate," he said, "what it has got to do with you--or
why you should be going away."
"I'm going after them. There's no one else. Howard will expect
prosecution. He will think that he'll never be able to come home. He's
pretty reckless, but they will be thinking of that all the time. It will
spoil everything for them."
"And what can you do?"
"I can tell them it's all right."
"How can it be?"
"It is," she said curtly. "The money has been paid back."
"Paid back!" Understanding burst upon him. "_You_ paid it?"
He stood up. He knew that resentment flickered in her--a fine, dangerous
resentment against him because he had dragged so simple and obvious a
thing out of its insignificance. But his own anger was like a mad,
runaway horse, rushing him to destruction.
"It was stupid of him not to have come to me in the first place," she
said, with an effort. "He should have known----"
He broke in fiercely.
"You can't--can't go like that."
"I must. If they had left an address--but, of course, they haven't.
I'll have to track them down. It won't be so difficult." A spark of
gaiety lit up her serious eyes. "I'll find Gertie lying on her back in
the Sistine Chapel. She'll scorn the mirrors."
"You can't leave your work like that."
"The hospital people have been awfully decent about it."
"You told them----?"
"I told them I had urgent, personal business.


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