Spurlock mused over the previous night. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch.
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