The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. I’m sorry. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Montressor’s guests. He knocked at the door. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows.
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