CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. "My name is Ruth Enschede. Michelle’s eyes opened, her body paralyzed. 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. ‘Like a vision she were. After all, life had still its pulsations. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back.
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