Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. I don’t believe in the faults. Good night!" She pressed his hand and went out. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. I don’t want to know. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. He still watched her and questioned her. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. The latter gentleman did full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly, and was visibly annoyed by his companion's intemperance. The Ragged Edge.
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