It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. But, being pushed forward by his subordinate officer, he was compelled to make a stand. “That’s enough, Michelle!” Diane snapped in the ugly raised voice of the enforcer. You had better let me go again. Let him not bear the weight of my punishment. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged the fast motorboat he had previously bespoken against the need, and started for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking The Tigress. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. . "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor.
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