I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. Ah Cum was more or less familiar with alcoholic types. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. And I want you for myself—for my wife. He carries with him something that will mark him anywhere—the girl. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it.
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