“What was that?” she asked sharply. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. If so, do not hesitate to tell me. I’ll kill you, Sheila, and I’ll kill her too. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. 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.
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