The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. After much clapping, they started. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. . I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. . ’ ‘Now you come to mention it, it is stupid,’ Gerald said, struck.
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