David Courtlaw. He had hurt her. Wood. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. ” “I would forgive you a great deal more,” he answered readily, “for the sake of an evening like this. Brown broke the silence. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. She pulled, he rose to his feet. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car.
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