She crushed the letter in her hand. “Yes. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. “Sufficient unto me is the change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl.
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