The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. “Will he die?” she asked. Now tell them why. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. This man and he were alike, and about the same age. " "You're not going to betray me!" cried Jack, in alarm. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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