Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. Yes—as he would have liked. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts.
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