I cannot, I will not be your--your wife,
Wicker, until--"
In vain he argued, pleaded, commanded. She was firm and she felt she was
right if not just. Underneath it all lurked the fear, the dreadful fear
that she may have been a child of love, the illegitimate offspring of
passion. It was the weight that crushed her almost to lifelessness; it
was the bar sinister.
"No, Wicker, I mean it," she said in the end resolutely. "Not until I
can give you a name in exchange for your own."
"Your name shall one day be Bonner if I have to wreck the social system
of the whole universe to uncover another one for you."
The automobile had been standing, by some extraordinary chance, in the
cool shade of a great oak for ten minutes or more, but it was a wise,
discreet old oak.
CHAPTER XXX
The Hemisphere Train Robbery
Anderson Crow lived at the extreme south end of Tinkletown's principal
thoroughfare. The "calaboose" was situated at the far end of Main
Street, at least half a mile separating the home of the law and the home
of the lawless. Marshal Crow's innate love for the spectacular alone
explains the unneighbourliness of the two establishments. He felt an
inward glory in riding or walking the full length of the street, and he
certainly had no reason to suspect the populace of disregarding the
outward glory he presented.
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