Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. O'Higgins, but I decline to give you the least information. “Then I don’t take this as final. You have been her guardian angel. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. ” He shook his head. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. .
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