’ ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. "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. His hands came up, his face broke apart. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. He could think about it later. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. "Do you see any likeness?" "Don't I," returned Jack, bitterly.
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