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Updated: June 6, 2025
"I don't know just what it conveys to you, Doctor, but I am Beverly Carlysle's brother." David lowered himself into his chair. His knees were suddenly weak under him. But he was able to control his voice. "I see," he said. And waited. "Something happened last night at the theater. It may be important. I'd have to see your nephew, in order to find out if it is. I can't afford to make a mistake."
There was no doubt in his mind that, in spite of the growth of the town, the newcomer would be under arrest almost as soon as he made his appearance. A resemblance that could deceive Beverly Carlysle's brother could deceive others, and would. That he had escaped so long amazed him. By the time he had bathed he had developed a sort of philosophic acceptance of the new situation.
Nevertheless he had a conviction that he had said something better left unsaid, and that Beverly Carlysle's glance at her brother was almost hostile. He had that instantaneous picture of the two of them, the man defiant and somehow frightened, and the woman's eyes anxious and yet slightly contemptuous. Then, in a flash, it was gone.
The old story, as he pieced it out, ran like this: It had been twelve years ago, when, according to the old files, Clark had financed Beverly Carlysle's first starring venture. He had, apparently, started out in the beginning only to give her the publicity she needed.
"But," said she, "you can find out all about her at her aunt's, Mrs. Carlysle's, No. 10 Street." A short time after Florence received a letter in a handwriting that made her tremble.
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