She knew she was a monster and so did they. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The door closed softly upon her. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love.
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