"Nobody took me," he said. "I gave myself up."
One morning, three months later, when Raegen had stopped his ice-cart
in front of my door, I asked him whether at any time he had ever
regretted what he had done.
"Well, sir," he said, with easy superiority, "seeing that I've shook
the gang, and that the Society's decided her folks ain't fit to take
care of her, we can't help thinking we are better off, see?
[Illustration with caption: She'd reach out her hands and kiss me.]
"But, as for my ever regretting it, why, even when things was at the
worst, when the case was going dead against me, and before that cop,
you remember, swore to McGonegal's drawing the pistol, and when I used
to sit in the Tombs expecting I'd have to hang for it, well, even
then, they used to bring her to see me every day, and when they'd lift
her up, and she'd reach out her hands and kiss me through the bars,
why--they could have took me out and hung me, and been damned to 'em,
for all I'd have cared."
THE OTHER WOMAN
Young Latimer stood on one of the lower steps of the hall stairs,
leaning with one hand on the broad railing and smiling down at her.
She had followed him from the drawing-room and had stopped at the
entrance, drawing the curtains behind her, and making, unconsciously,
a dark background for her head and figure.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98