At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. It took a deal of thought to cast a comprehensive cable, for it had to include where Spurlock was, what he was doing, and the fact that O'Higgins's letter of credit would not now carry him and Spurlock to San Francisco. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. .
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