“Gregg, don’t you know me? Gregg, dear....”
Why, what was this? Not George Prince? A masquerader, yet so like George Prince.
“Gregg, don’t you know me?”
Clinging to me. A soft touch upon my arm. Fingers, clinging. A surge of warm, tingling current was flowing between us.
My sweep of instant thoughts. A speck of human Earth-dust, falling free. That was George Prince, who had been killed. George Prince’s body, disguised by the scheming Carter and Dr. Frank, buried in the guise of his sister. And this black-robed figure who was trying to help us––
“Anita! Dear God! Anita, darling! Anita!”
“Gregg, dear one!”
“Anita! Dear God!”
My arms went around her, my lips pressed hers, and felt her tremulous, eager answer.