’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. The tide'll bring him to us fast enough. 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. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. Wood obeyed. " "Ah, Jack," said Wood, shaking his head, "where there's a will there's a way. ‘Must be another of her lies.
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