Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. He begged their attention for the next turn. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. ” He answered as they hauled huge remainders of stumps and ragged rocks to the grave to make it difficult to trespass upon. Too late.
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