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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"

I wondered if she had escaped brain fever, after all.
"No," she said, smiling audaciously, "it was because I liked your
face--I knew you could be trusted. Of course, for a moment I was
startled at seeing you looking down at me from a tree. I wondered
afterwards how you came to be there."
"Just idle curiosity," I managed to stammer, my face very hot. "I am
sorry if I annoyed you."
"Oh, but it was most fortunate," she protested; "and a great
coincidence, too, that you should be Mr. Swain's employer, and able to
get hold of him at once."
"It didn't do much good," I said, gloomily; "and it has ended in
putting Swain in jail."
I happened to glance at her hands, folded in her lap, and saw that
they were fairly biting into each other.
"In jail!" she whispered, and now there was no colour in her face.
"Forgive me, Miss Vaughan," I said, hastily. "That was brutal. I
forgot you didn't know."
"Tell me!" she panted. "Tell me! I can stand it! Oh, you foolish man,
didn't you see--I was trying to nerve myself--I was trying to find
out...."
I caught the hands that were bruising themselves against each other
and held them fast.


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