"Because it's not like you," was her answer. Lad, that fuddles me!" "Did you bring me down here to crucify me?" cried Spurlock, in passionate rebellion. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. Half after six. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly.
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