Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. She confronted him with his own double-standard. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. CHAPTER XIV. ” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead.
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