"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought.
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