"If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. What I said about your brat was all stuff. We must never let your father know we went.
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