Chapter 64

“The dawn,” she cried. “You see the dawn, Drummond. Soon the sun will rise, the rays will creep nearer and nearer to Phyllis. And then . . . See . . . the rim is already there. It is coming, Drummond; coming. Have you any last message, you poor damned fool, for her? If so, speak now, for my hand is on the lever of the knife.” “Just one,” said Drummond lightly, and to my amazement, his voice did not come from the chair in which he was imprisoned. “Every beard is not false, but every nigger smells. That beard ain’t f…