"Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. His face fell. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. The day had become suddenly overcast. ToC "At length this tragedy is at an end," said Mr.
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