"The key," replied the widow. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. ‘Now then, Gerald, out with it. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. .
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