"An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. Not at all. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. She was ushered into the back of the squad car. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour.
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