Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. . She has been a dear. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. ” Lucy said.
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