" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. I’ve had enough of it. The aunt laughed. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage.
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