. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Spurlock offered his hand, which Ah Cum accepted gravely. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. But she was not to be tempted. My people don’t know what to do. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. To my loving parents and brothers, and my Aunts, Gail and Barb. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look.
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