Carmel was no fool even if she had wild and demoniacal moments.

This could not be my note to her,--that fatal note which would make all denial of our mutual passion unavailing.
"Is it your writing ?" my watchful inquisitor repeated.
I looked again.

The scrap was smaller than my note had been when it left my hands.

If it were the same, then some of the words were gone.

Were they the first ones or the last?
It would make a difference in the reading, or rather, in the conclusions to be drawn from what remained.