" CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. Or at least he did the day before yesterday. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. . She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. ” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead.
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