Earles watched her anxiously. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down.
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