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“P. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. I don’t care. ‘And nor do I. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept.
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