"But we'll put off our talk until to-morrow. It's late, and
you're wet and cold, and besides, my aunt is having one of her bad
spells and thinks she needs me. Judkins will see to you. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Larry.
She moved gracefully out--almost floated, Larry would have said. The
next moment the man was with him who had been his escort here, and led
Larry into a spacious bedroom with bath attached. Ten minutes later
Judkins made his exit, carrying Larry's outer clothes; and another ten
minutes later, after a hot bath, and garbed in silk pajamas which
Judkins had produced, Larry was in the softest and freshest bed that
had ever held him.
But sleep did not come to Larry for a long time. He lay wondering
about this golden-haired, poiseful Miss Sherwood. She was undoubtedly
the woman in the back of Hunt's life. And he wondered about Hunt--who
he really was--what had really driven him into this strange exile. And
he wondered about Maggie--what she might be doing--what from this
strange new vantage-point he might do for her and with her. And he
wondered how his own complex situation was going to work itself out.
And still wondering, Larry at length fell asleep.
CHAPTER XII
When Larry awoke the next morning, he blinked for several bewildered
moments about his bedroom, so unlike his cell at Sing Sing and so
unlike Hunt's helter-skelter studio down at the Duchess's which he had
shared, before he realized that this big, airy chamber and this
miracle of a bed on which he lay were realities and not a mere
continuation of a dream of fantastic and body-flattering wealth.
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