“I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. But an individual she never laid eyes on day before yesterday! And the minute he gets up, he'll head for the public bar. ’ ‘And you do not know me. What happened between Ruth and her father that made him hurry off without passing ordinary courtesies with me?" "I suppose I ought to tell you," said Spurlock; "but it is understood that Ruth shall never know the truth. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through.
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