Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. 1 through 1.
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