She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. It was his turn to express astonishment. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. E. "That's false!" cried Mrs.
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