He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. His bravado waxed and he asked her to what would be her first date in nearly twenty years. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered the sandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song.
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