Explore "The Golden Bat" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ray sat there, so deeply plunged in thought, that he was quite lost to what Angela was saying. If his brain was not playing him some fantastic trick, he was on the edge of a clue which, a few hours ago, he would have discarded as a figment of a distorted imagination. But here was Angela practically confirming it. He stole a glance at her sweetly-serious face, with its rather proud glory, and its soft sadness, the face of one who carries a secret grief which has to be hidden from the world at any cost. But the lips were firm and the eyes denoted courage, and Ray was going to trust her.
"I am very sorry, darling," he said, "but something you said set me thinking, and I heard nothing. A chance remark of yours gave me an inspiration so great that I am almost afraid to go on with it. However, it's no use talking like that. What I want to know is whether you can tell me anything about your past. I mean, have you got a scrap of paper, a letter, a photograph, anything of that sort that one could go on? Even a ring?"