They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. I thought you understood. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. She had agonized over it for weeks. THAMES DARRELL. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. He is probably very wealthy. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. She had killed him. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought.
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