The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. I can never be grateful enough. I wish some one would kill Ramage by accident!. And not a worthy tome in sight. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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