CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. “He says you are frigid, Madame. The man was dangerous. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. Our mutual safety requires it. ‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s sake, I’ll do anything I can.
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