“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. They were the same. She could tell that he was leering at her. See? Nothing really. They’re just all men, and no one is safe from scandal. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. No other white people within twenty miles. But we waste time. "If this document is correct," continued Wood, "and I am persuaded it is so,— you are as unfortunate as wicked. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. No more scuffling.
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