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A Reversible Santa Claus by Meredith Nicholson
page 36 of 76 (47%)

She pointed to a much bepillowed davenport and The Hopper sank down on it,
still with his hands up. To his deepening mystification she backed to the
windows and lowered the shades, and this done she sat down with the table
between them, remarking,--

"You may put your hands down now, Mr. ----?"

He hesitated, decided that it was unwise to give any of his names; and
respecting his scruples she said with great magnanimity:--

"Of course you wouldn't want to tell me your name, so don't trouble about
that."

She sat, wholly tranquil, her arms upon the table, both hands caressing
the small automatic, while his own revolver, of different pattern and
larger caliber, lay close by. His status was now established as that of a
gentleman making a social call upon a lady who, in the pleasantest manner
imaginable and yet with undeniable resoluteness, kept a deadly weapon
pointed in the general direction of his person.

A clock on the mantel struck eleven with a low, silvery note. Muriel
waited for the last stroke and then spoke crisply and directly.

"We were speaking of that letter I left lying here on the table. You
didn't understand it, of course; you couldn't--not really. So I will
explain it to you. My husband and I married against our fathers' wishes;
both of them were opposed to it."

She waited for this to sink into his perturbed consciousness. The Hopper
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