Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. "Mine died while I was over here. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. " "How did you escape?" asked Sheppard, who, as he shook off his slumber, began to recall the events of the previous night. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration.
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