Marion handed the two anonymous letters to her friend without
introductory remark, and the latter read them. As Marion watched the
expression on the reader's face, she was forced to admit to herself
that right then, under those seemingly impersonal circumstances,
Helen's habitual strangeness of manner was more pronounced than she
had ever before known it to be. This girl of impenetrable secrecy read
the letters, seemingly with an abstraction amounting almost to
inattention, while physically she appeared to shrink from something
that to her alone was visible and real.
As she finished reading, Helen looked up at her friend and the gaze of
penetrating curiosity that she saw in Marion's eyes caused her to
blush with confusion. Unable to meet her friend's gaze steadily, she
shifted her eyes toward the most uninteresting part of the car, the
floor, and said:
"That looks like a dangerous letter. It ought to be turned over to the
police as soon as possible."
"Both of them, don't you think?" Marion inquired.
"Why? I don't see anything in this shorter one. My guess would be that
it was written by your cousin or one of his friends."
"But do you notice the way they both end?--the same words," Marion
insisted.
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