‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. " When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. 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. He roused curiosities.
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