Spurlock slept on. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. He backed away from her. "Mr. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. I don’t care. Besides, it was under false pretences.
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