CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Your life is like a funeral March. " "He has done too much already," answered the widow. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. As I hope for mercy, I speak the truth!— let him deny it if he can. " "Shall I tell you a real story?" "Something you have seen?" "Yes. For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. .
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