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So he found her when he came round the corner of the spinney. We WERE thieves. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. Our ideal had fallen. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. What right had a young woman to possess the scarring and intimate knowledge of that dreg of human society, the beachcomber? CHAPTER II Ah Cum lived at No. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. “It jars.
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