And she hurried away, still quivering, a cold chill upon her. Three hours later she returned to the office, her eyes dark circled, and red with weeping. Mr. Raider met her at the door.
"Yes," she said in a low voice. "They—they took me up-stairs, and—" She paused pitifully, the memory strong upon her, for the woman, the mother of five children, two of whom had been struck down, had lain in Lark's strong tender arms, and sobbed out the ugly story.
"Did they tell you all about it?"
"Yes, they told me. They told me."
"Come on into my office," he said. "You must write it up while it is fresh in your mind. You'll do it better while the feeling is on you."
Lark gazed at him stupidly, not comprehending.
"Write it up?" she repeated confusedly.
"Yes, for the paper. How they looked, what they said, how it happened,—everything. We want to scoop on it."
"But I don't think they—would want it told," Lark gasped.