“It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. I firmly believe that she is as straight as a die. It was eleven o'clock. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. White assured her. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime.
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