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"Gracious!" said Opal. "I hate babies! Ed is crazy about them, and would like to have the house full, but I gave him to understand what I thought about that before we were married." "I love babies," said Marilyn. "They want me to go this Fall and do some work in that settlement, and I'm considering it.
"We may deduce and analyze and catalogue all the facts of science, but" he spread his palms wide, expressly "it is as nothing against a woman's intuition." Facing Marilyn again, he became frank. "You caught my thought exactly, although it was not as bad as all that. I simply wondered if Miss Faye might not have had something to do with the case." "Why?"
Marilyn rose and slipped out of a dressing gown spotted with make-up and dark from its long service in the studios. Underneath the wrapper the finest of silken draperies clung to her, infinitely more intimate here in actuality and in the bright studio lights than it would be upon the screen. I noticed the slim trimness of her figure could not help myself, in fact.
Miss Saxon eyed them with the kind of fascination a wild rabbit has for a strange dog, pressed the hand of the minister's wife with a fervent little squeeze, and scurried away into the dark street. Marilyn lingered silently on the front steps after the janitor had locked the door inside and gone back to the session room.
Not five minutes passed before Marilyn was announced. Evidently she had been seeking us eagerly, for she had probably telephoned from a near-by pay station. "Mr. Kennedy," she began, "I am going to find this very hard to say." "Really," he assured her, "there is no reason why you should not repose your confidence in me. My only interest is to solve the mystery and to see that justice is satisfied.
Who the deuce was this Billy? And what did she care about Miss Saxon crying? Did she care so much for Billy already? Would it be worth his while to make her uncare? "Mrs. Carter wasn't out," said Mrs. Severn as she poured coffee, "I hope she's not having more trouble with her neuralgia." The minister suddenly looked up from his carving: "Did Mark come back yesterday, Marilyn?"
Kennedy found the little vial and examined it. "Atropin!" he ejaculated. "Walter!" He turned to me. "Get some physostigmin, quick! Have Mackay drive you! It's it's life or death! Here I'll write it down! Physostigmin!" As I raced madly out and down the stairs, Mackay at my heels, I heard a woman's scream. Marilyn! Did she think him dead?
Marilyn was chafing Shirley's cold hands, tears resting shamelessly upon her lids, a look of deep inexpressible fear in her expression. "Will will you be able to save him, Professor?" she asked, not once, but a dozen different times. None of the rest of us spoke. We waited anxiously for the first signs of hope, the first indication that the heavy man's life might be preserved.
"Now for Shirley," he muttered. "And Marilyn," I added. We rushed out into the courtyard, Kennedy in the lead, Mackay trailing with the bag. Here there were dense clouds of fine white suffocating smoke mixed with steam, and signs of the utmost confusion on every hand.
Enid maintained her stately carriage, but made full use of the dazzling whiteness of her teeth. Early she permitted the attentions of the cowled monk whom she knew to be her lover. Marilyn was everywhere, making mischief the best she could. Shirley stalked about in his satanic red, which would photograph black and appear even more somber on the screen.
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