" He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her eyes. As far as I can, I belong to them all. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand.
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