He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. “I wouldn’t have been without this trip for worlds. You are my prisoner, murderer. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will.
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