He set his teeth and gave a rapid but graphic account of the whole dreadful
episode, willing to interest her at any price; and Alexina, sitting
opposite on the ground, her long spine curved, her long arms embracing her
knees, listened with a breathless interest, spurring him to potent words,
even to stressing of detail.
"My goodness gracious me!" she ejaculated when he paused. "I should have
gone raving mad. You are a perfect wonder. I never heard of anything so
gor--perfectly thrilling. And that girl, what did you say her name was?"
Gathbroke, who had purposely withheld it, said explosively:
"Dwight."
"Dwight?"
"I think she is a sister of a friend of yours." And he was made as
miserable as he could wish by a crimson tide that swept straight from her
heart pump up to her widow's peak.
"Dwight? Sister? I didn't know he had one. I saw him several times during
the fire and he didn't mention her."
"I suspect he was too absorbed." Gathbroke muttered the words, but man's
instinct of loyalty to his own sex is strong. "A city doesn't burn every
day, you know."
"Still...what is she like? Like him?"
"I do not remember him at all...She? Oh, she has a tremendous amount of
dark hair that looks as if falling off the top of her head and down her
face. Uncommonly heavy eyebrows, and very light gray--Ah, I have it! I have
been groping for the word ever since--sinister eyes.
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