CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. But Enschede took them as they came, without question. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. She is, in her way, a dear. " At the time of his present introduction, his play of "The Captives," had just been produced at Drury Lane, and he was meditating his "Fables," which were published two years afterwards. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. And I think I will indeed blow off your imbecile head.
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