It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. " "Murdered!" ejaculated Winifred. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. CHAPTER III. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things.
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