Having read the opening words of the note,
Sam rocked violently; but his feet were twined about the lower bars and
this saved him from overbalancing. Webster stepped back, relieved.
The note fluttered to the ground. Webster, picking it up and handing it
back, was enabled to get a glimpse of the first two sentences. They
confirmed his suspicions. The note was hot stuff. Assuming that it
continued as it began, it was about the warmest thing of its kind that
pen had ever written. Webster had received one or two heated epistles
from the sex in his time--your man of gallantry can hardly hope to
escape these unpleasantnesses--but none had got off the mark
quite so swiftly, and with quite so much frigid violence as this.
"Thanks," said Sam, mechanically.
"Not at all, sir. You are very welcome."
Sam resumed his reading. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead.
His toes curled, and something seemed to be crawling down the small of
his back. His heart had moved from its proper place and was now beating
in his throat.
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