The Fatal Glove by Clara Augusta. Arch Trevlyn had had a good day. Business had been brisk. The rain had fallen steadily since daybreak and the street-crossings in New York were ankle deep in mud. The little street-sweeper's arms ached fearfully but his pocket was full of pennies interspersed with an occasional half-dime.
The Fatal Glove by Clara Augusta. Arch Trevlyn had had a good day. Business had been brisk. The rain had fallen steadily since daybreak and the street...