Not then. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. But I can give it its name now. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. . I knew it. "At length, my vengeance is complete. Happy Thanksgiving.
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