She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. . I haven’t, anyhow. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. Darell's peculiar bent of mind was exemplified in a rusty broadsword, a tall grenadier's cap, a musket without lock or ramrod, a belt and cartouch-box, with other matters evincing a decided military taste. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet.
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