She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. "So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm. He smiled. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. The performance over, he relaxed and closed his eyes. After fifteen years, to find that peculiarly Occidental attribute—college loyalty—still alive in his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm! With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol. The Red Room. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be.
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