“I don’t know why. At one time, she determined to go to Wych Street, and ask Mr. Was she so bad a prospect? ‘No good, Melusine,’ said a new voice from the doorway. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. . Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. " CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. Annabel shook her head. She was consumed by misery and hate.
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