“It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. ‘Seems to me like you know just about as much as me. I’d rather not go,” she added. A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. Her lips were dry and cracked.
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