She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. We think the whole thing is straight and noble at bottom, and it isn’t. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. “Cool. . She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said.
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