‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Wood; "that's the surest way!" "No! no! give it me!" vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before.
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