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Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. Mrs. Old saltwater was right. I want to leave it for ever. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks.
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