He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. That was an admission all right. But this was important. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. It's fine with me if it's fine with Cathy, darlin’. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. She was finally dead, going to Hell.
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