CHAPTER VIII
THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX
AT half-past eleven the evening was over and Ferrier getting into his thin overcoat. The pocket hung heavy with something. He drew it out with an embarrassed smile. "I forgot to give you the letters," he said, and handed them to the girl.
"Thank you. I never thought to ask for them." She took them carelessly, standing in the open door a moment after Ferrier had gone, looking out into the gray glimmer of the half-moon and talking to Carron. He wanted to ask her to come out three steps from the house and show him what that floodtide of night that she had spoken of might be like; but then Mr. Rader interrupted him on the verge of it, asking if there were any letters for him.
"Oh, I forgot!" She hastily skimmed the package. "Congressional Library at Washington, that's yours—and that is mine. There you are, 'Pratt's Second-Hand Book Store'—and this is mine—and mine—and here's one for Mr. Carron!" Her voice showed a little surprise. She held it out to him. "I thought you were on a vacation?" she said.
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