He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. "You know my motive well enough," answered Jonathan. “Well?” she said. ‘Merely making a useful contact. By-the-bye, do you recognize that?” Anna looked and gasped. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight.
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