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Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “I hope you’re satisfied. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. He was disquieted. Gerald’s breath caught. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. ” “McCloskey. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. Take it, I tell you. You hurt the child. “No, not that I know of,” Michelle replied, her still eyes not meeting Lucy’s.
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