A door slammed. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. " "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson. “That’s not.
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