She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. I know nothing of that young lady. She had agonized over it for weeks. In that case I'll help you.
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