Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. "Write as follows," continued Jack. Voilà tout. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. As he was leaving the hotel, Ah Cum stepped up to his side. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk.
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