He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Well, it had to happen somewhen. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Meanwhile, after a consultation between Mr. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. CHAPTER XXIII.
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