Story - The Glove by R.U. Joyce
James Dunne hung by his fingertips from the window-sill and after a moment dropped noiselessly to the ground. He looked about him hurriedly. The house was on the outskirts of the town, well back from the road from which the grounds were separated by a high stone wall. It was almost two o'clock and the night was dark. There was little likelihood of his meeting anybody at that time. On the whole he was perfectly secure. As he ran silently across the lawn he could not help marvelling at his own nerve. He had committed burglaries in those far-off days before he had blossomed forth as a respectable jeweller in the little town of Brampton, but those days were far distant. Behind him lay ten years of law-abiding respectability.
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