The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. ’ She shook her head sadly.
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