The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. He laughed reassuringly. Not fit to be dust on your boots. \"This is my best friend, Mark. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him.
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