A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. He must know she’ll be at a convent. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ‘Ah, trying to be the young hero, I take it, which is why he near got hisself killed. ’ Relaxing back, Gerald folded his arms. “I wish you would not do it. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. ” He laughed. ” Anna glanced up. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Was the girl seriously expecting him to pull the trigger? Lord, but she had courage! ‘Shoot, then,’ urged the lady.
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