Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattle
of a doorknob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that toward
the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnants
of his sandwich.
The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported by
her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung in
disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had thrown
about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl moved
unsteadily and sank into a chair.
In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.
"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she added:
"She calls herself Rose Gerard."
One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
stared at Wharton defiantly.
"Well," she challenged, "what about it?"
Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.
"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.
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