” She paused. "Take me, then," replied the widow. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. She made a step forward. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. You and I. "Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I'm getting a little deaf—and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. Through that she had to go. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless.
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