"I don't know whether I like Gora Dwight or not," she remarked.
"Neither do I. But I admire her. She is a wonder."
"Oh, yes, I admire her, and I've a notion she's got something big in her,
some sort of destiny. But those light eyes in that dark face give me the
creeps. It isn't that I don't trust her. I believe her to be insolently
honest and honorable--and just, if you like. But--perhaps it's only the
accident of her queer coloring--she gives me the impression that while she
might go to the stake for her pride, she'd murder you in cold blood if you
got in her way."
"Poor Gora! You make her all the more interesting."
"Did she ever tell you that she corresponds with that Englishman who was
out here at the time of the earthquake and fire and had that ghastly
adventure with his sister? We all met him at the Hofer ball--Gathbroke his
name was."
Alexina was staring at her with an amazed frown. "Correspond--Gora?...I
remember now he told me she helped him to carry his sister's body out to
the old cemetery. Is he interested in her?"
"I shouldn't wonder. They've corresponded off and on ever since. I
walked, home with her one afternoon before I went south--she interests me
frantically--and she invited me up to her quite artistic attic in Geary
Street, where she still lives, and gave me the most vivid description of
that night. It made me crawl. She stared straight before her as she told
it.
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