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” “But that is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. But she did not in the least want to do that. “Lucy, that is so sad. An unwelcome idea came to him. The crash was tremendous. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. One who steals. Few men could have done as much.
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