I don’t care WHAT happens. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand.
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