“It is no good playing a game. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. The man was my husband. He was an imaginative young man. ” Lord, he was right! But softly now. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. It would be swindling. I’M shaken. ” “Right!” he answered. " "Bah!" ejaculated Marvel, gruffly. ’ He laughed. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh.
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