“You don't—have—to—go—to—New York—to—find—your—boy!” the strained voice said at last.
Nance frowned in surprise and flew back at her in rage.
“Yes I do, too—he lives thar!”
The little figure straightened above the crouching form.
“He's here!”
Nance sank slowly against the table and rested the bag on the edge of the chair. Its weight was more than she could bear. She tried to glance over her shoulder at the body on the couch and her courage failed. The first suspicion of the hideous truth flashed through her stunned mind. She couldn't grasp it at once.
“Whar?” she whispered hoarsely.
Mary lifted her arm slowly and pointed to the couch.
“There!”
Nance glared at her a moment and broke into a hysterical laugh.