" CHAPTER IX. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre. She wanted him so badly it hurt. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. Sheppard. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check.
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