I wish to see if she is really insane. You will at least allow me
this satisfaction."
And while we were in altercation, Elma, with the pencil in her fingers,
tried to write, but by reason of her hands being bound so closely was
unable. At length, however, after several attempts, she succeeded in
printing in uneven capitals the response:
"I know you. You were on the yacht. I thought they killed you."
The thin-faced old woman saw her response--a reply that was surely
rational enough--and her brows contracted with displeasure.
"Why are you here?" I wrote, not allowing the sister to get sight of my
question.
In response, she wrote painfully and laboriously:
"I am condemned for a crime I did not commit. Take me from here, or I
shall kill myself."
"Ah!" exclaimed the old woman. "You see, poor girl, she believes herself
innocent! They all do."
"But why is she here?" I demanded fiercely.
"I do not know, m'sieur. It is not my duty to inquire the history of
their crimes. When they are ill I nurse them; that is all.
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