"Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. . Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. I must take you to the Suffrage people, and the Tolstoyans, and the Fabians. CHAPTER XXVIII. In that sense, my strategy worked.
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