The clock struck half-past ten. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. “I must explain to her. ” “But is that really so?” said Ann Veronica. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail.
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