"What in the name of fortune are you doing, Kitty?" cried Ashe.
She made no answer, and he approached. Then he saw that in the centre
of the pile, and propped up against some small pieces of wood, a
photograph of Geoffrey Cliffe was consuming slow and dismally. The fire
had just sent a line across his cheek. The lower limbs were already
charred, and the right hand was shrivelling.
All around were letters, mostly consumed; while at the top of the pile
above the culprit's head, stuck in a cleft stick, and just beginning to
be licked by the flames, was what seemed to be a leaf torn out of a
book. The book from which it had apparently been wrenched lay open on a
chair near.
Kitty drew a long breath as Ashe came near her.
"Keep off!" she said--"don't touch it!"
"You little goose!" cried Ashe--"what are you about?"
"Burning a coward in effigy," said Kitty, between her teeth.
Ashe thrust his hands into his pockets.
"I wish to God you'd forget the creature, instead of flattering him with
these attentions!"
Kitty made no reply, but as she drew the fire together Ashe captured her
hand.
"What's he been doing now, Kitty?"
"There are his poems," said Kitty, pointing to the chair.
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