Mark stayed away from Lucy, which was just as Sheila liked it. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Sheppard, bitterly.
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