Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. After all, this could never be the black sheep. He could lose himself for hours at a time. I must go to work again. Let me only wear your livery. “Yeah. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. “There is my aunt,” she said. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered.
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