As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. Wild, he asserted, had robbed him of a large sum of money, and till it was restored he would never plead. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. To O'Higgins—for all his sordid business he was not insensible to beauty—to O'Higgins she appeared to have entered the room with the light.
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