Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. Curiously enough nothing will persuade him that she is not ‘Alcide. “It rests with them by the nature of things. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. Once, both Ruth and Spurlock accompanied McClintock far south, to an island of blacks; and Spurlock had his first experience with the coconut dance and the booming of wooden tom-toms. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. You are one of the Immortals.
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