"Not so;" answered Wild. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. . CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. ‘I can manage now. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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