Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. It fell with a clatter to the floor. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. “Did you see who that was?” he asked in a low tone. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. John eased off. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. Sheppard. Dolby smiled.
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