" CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. Rather a hazardous spot for a convalescent, and McClintock had been doubtful at first; but Spurlock declared that he was a good sailor, which was true. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. He was in the house with his mother.
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