It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Then she looked up at Brendon. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter.
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