He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “Yes, I believe he is. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. ” “Very well,” the man answered. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. She stepped into his arms. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door.
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