It got on my nerves—the women I saw. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. It's infernally provoking.
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