The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. " For the life of him, O'Higgins could not think of anything else to say. She is a stranger to you. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. A dissipated, loose-living man. I would speak with you. She decided to call in the help of Teddy Widgett, or, failing him, of one of his sisters.
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