And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. “Please forgive me. He divorced her.
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