And here against a wall were the plumtrees. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. Muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme he had in contemplation. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's.
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