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Updated: May 3, 2025
Her real name is Maggie Carlisle, and she used to live at a dump of a pawnshop down on the East Side run by Brainard's grandmother. Brainard knew her there, and so did Mr. Hunt." "But but " gasped Miss Sherwood "she's been coming out here as Maggie Cameron!" "I tell you your Maggie Cameron is Maggie Carlisle!" said Gavegan gloatingly. "I've known her for years.
She heard the young man leave Brainard's office but she was too engrossed to pay attention to anything but the voices that were coming through the microphone. She was writing feverishly what she heard. "Yes, Sheppard, I saw her again last night." "Where?" "She was to meet me here, but he stayed later than usual with that new secretary of his. So I cut out and met her at the street entrance."
Helena cried, under her breath. "I don't know Brainard's got his coat off. Pray for us, will you?" He was gone again. Beside the narrow bed on which he lay every night, there dropped upon its knees a figure in sumptuous furs; a face such as men vow themselves ready to die for was pressed into the hard little pillow.
Brown flung open the door into his living-room, his face aglow, and stood laughing at the sight of Mrs. Brainard's posture in his red rocking-chair. As if exhausted by the tortures of fatigue and starvation she lay back in an attitude of utter abandonment to her fate, and only the gleam of her eyes and the smile on her lips belied the dejection of her pose.
She knelt at his side without a word. He looked down at her. Somehow he had never seen her like this before that curious womanly expression. "Tell me," was all she said. And, as he told Tom Brainard's failure to fit in, he watched her closely. "I'm sorry," he concluded. "So am I, daddy," she returned steadily; "because I am going to marry him." "What?"
That act of my early girlhood by which I had gained an undeserved freedom had been too base; sooner than let you know this blot on my life, I was content to risk the possibility the inconceivable possibility of Mr. Brainard's having survived the attack he had made upon his own life. Can you understand such temerity? I can not, now that I see its results before me.
And I'm here to ask you what you think now? And what you know." A panorama of all shameful possibilities for one black moment floated before me. I remember this gave place to a wave, cold as death, that swept from head to foot; then Brainard's hands fell heavily on my shoulders. "Thank God at least for this much," he said, hoarsely; "I didn't know at first but I had lost both friend and wife.
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