“I’m next, Mr. “Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street. Maggot. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. ” “We might even have—given it up for them!” “I wonder if we could. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. Gerald? But could he be here so quickly? She hastily dabbed at her eyes, thankful for the darkness that she saw had come on outside unnoticed, dimming the room.
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