“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. Charley Pevenill was our host. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. “You can keep him at arm’s length. I'll be with you in a jiffy. Something to tell you. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. He unlocked himself from her embrace. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony.
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