“Yes? Unless—what?”
“Unless it’s something that would unlock what’s locked in my subconsciousness.”
“And what would that be?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
She moved from the mantelpiece with a gesture of despair. “Rash, you’re absolutely and hopelessly impossible.”
“I know that,” he admitted, humbly.
With both fists clenched she stood in front of him. “I could kill you.”
He hung his head. “Not half so easily as I could kill myself.”
Letty’s judgment on Miss Henrietta Towell was different from yours and mine. She found her just what she had expected to see from the warnings long ago issued by Mrs. Judson Flack in putting her 296 daughter on her guard. In going about the city she, Letty, was always to be suspicious of elderly ladies, respectably dressed, enticingly mannered, and with what seemed like maternal intentions. The more any one of these traits was developed, the more suspicious Letty was to be. With these instructions carefully at heart she would have been suspicious of Henrietta Towell in any case; but with Steptoe’s description to fall back upon she couldn’t but feel sure.