\"Today's Friday, isn't it?\" Lucy remembered. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. She would end alone. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. I wanted to have something to give up.
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