Once, both Ruth and Spurlock accompanied McClintock far south, to an island of blacks; and Spurlock had his first experience with the coconut dance and the booming of wooden tom-toms. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. As a dog eats grass. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. Ruth shivered; she was cold. She’s right upstairs. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse.
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