"It doesn't matter. I have another," she answered in a soft, unsteady
voice.
As she coaxed the light into being, I made a rapid survey. We were in a
room of gray stone, of no great size and quite bare of furnishing, save
for a few stone benches built into alcoves in the wall. The bareness
of the scene emphasized our lack of resources. As a sole ray of hope, I
perceived a possible line of retreat if things should grow too warm for
us, a door facing the one by which we had come in.
With all the excitement, I had forgotten Mr. Schwartzmann's bullet,
which, I have no doubt, had left me a gory spectacle. At any rate,
I frightened Miss Falconer when the candle-light revealed me. In
an instant she was bending over me, forcing me gently down upon a
particularly cold, hard bench.
"They shot you!" she was exclaiming. Her voice was low, but it held an
astonishing protective fierceness. "They--they dared to hurt you! Oh,
why didn't you tell me? Is it very bad?"
"No! no!" I protested, dabbing futilely at my forehead. "It isn't of
the least importance.
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