He sat on his haunches in the snow, his elbows braced on his knees,
and trained the powerful lenses upon her. In a matter of half a minute
her gaze shifted, turned back to the river. She shrugged her
shoulders, or perhaps it was a shiver born of the cold, and then went
back inside.
Hollister rested the binoculars upon his knee. His face did not alter.
Facile expression was impossible to that marred visage. Pain or anger
or sorrow could no longer write its message there for the casual
beholder to read. The thin, twisted remnants of his lips could tighten
a little, and that was all.
But his eyes, which had miraculously escaped injury, could still glow
with the old fire, or grow dull and lifeless, giving some index to the
mutations of his mind. And those darkly blue eyes, undimmed beacons
amid the wreckage of his features, burned and gleamed now with a
strange fire.
The woman who had been standing there staring up the hillside, with
the sun playing hide and seek in her yellow hair, was Myra Hollister,
his wife.
CHAPTER VI
Hollister sat in the snow, his gaze fixed upon this house on the river
bank, wrestling with all the implications of this incredible
discovery.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91