Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead. “I don’t know. It must be the dawn creeping in. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray.
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