CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. . "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice.
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