Nothing Can Rescue Me

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Authors: Elizabeth Daly
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red-brown volume in his hand. “They were quotations?”
    â€œI should have thought the fact reasonably clear.”
    â€œGood gracious. To tell you the truth, Gamadge, I barely glanced at the things. I fought shy of them. I hoped everything would simmer down and come to nothing. Here’s Herbert.”
    â€œLook up ‘A Paradox,’ and then Poe’s ‘Silence—A Fable.’”
    They both turned pages. “ Here we are,” said Sylvanus at last. “‘Listen to me, said the Demon .’ Well, I’ll be hanged.”
    â€œAnd here’s the other Ford, in that piece whose title we have no concern with.”
    â€œNo concern with it?”
    â€œOh, no; we never mention it. People can’t make up their minds to produce it, because they can’t imagine the title in front of a theatre in electric lights.”
    Sylvanus joined him, peered, laughed, and then grew grave. “I didn’t even know we had a Ford. Good heavens—you think the party used our books!”
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    â€œGood heavens. Shall you examine them for fingerprints?”
    â€œI wouldn’t bother. Florence never wrote these quotations into her book, Syl; not even with the help of the spirits.”
    â€œI suppose not. Sally’s been filling her up with a lot of mischievous nonsense, though, and I was afraid it had been too much for her nerves. I was afraid she might be splitting off a personality or something.”
    â€œNot Florence. Sally, perhaps, if she’s the wreck you make out.”
    â€œShe is. One doesn’t like to scold her. One rather likes her to get what comfort she can.”
    â€œWhere do they hold the séances?”
    â€œIn the office there.”
    â€œDoes Miss Wing sit in on them?”
    â€œDon’t think so; she’s a sensible girl, not like that at all.”
    â€œYou really like her, don’t you?”
    â€œI do, very much,” Sylvanus spoke sharply.
    Gamadge piled the Poe and the Herbert on Ford and Marlowe. He said: “I had the pleasure of meeting your cousin Miss Hutter just now.”
    â€œOh, is she here to-day?” Hutter laughed. “Quite a character, didn’t you think?”
    â€œQuite. She seems intelligent, too.”
    â€œOh, very. We’re quite fond of her, but you can’t do much with—or for—that type. Just like her father. She loves to tell people that she won’t be beholden to Florence and me.”
    â€œShe told me so.”
    â€œOf course she did. Old Joel made her promise, or something. Of course Florence and I will eventually set up an annuity for her, whether she likes it or not. She can give it to the Erasmus library if she doesn’t want it. But by that time she’ll probably be delighted to have it; best room in the boarding-house, world cruises—if there are world cruises then. Her airs annoy Florence, but I think she really has a stiff kind of affection for us both.”
    â€œLet’s have a look at the office.” Gamadge picked up the books and followed Hutter into a narrow room with one window; it had a second door into the rear hall, and contained a large desk, a desk chair, filing cabinets, and a revolving bookcase. The space between the two doors was occupied by a bridge table and two small folding chairs; and on the bridge table stood a little heart-shaped object, mounted on two delicate wheels and an upright pencil.
    â€œThis place is smaller than it used to be,” said Gamadge, looking around him.
    â€œOh, yes.” Hutter raised the venetian blind as high as it would go, and pushed aside tan-coloured silk curtains. “We cut a chunk off the west side of it to make room for a new coat closet and downstairs dressing-room. We’re very comfortable up here now. Game room in the basement; even Florence plays ping pong.”
    Gamadge laid the pile of books on the desk. He said: “Can we lock

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