“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. So, then, when McClintock offered the coveted haven, Spurlock became afire to dramatize the idea. ‘Let her go.
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