He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. These were yarns! As he was about to slip the manuscripts into the envelope, something caught his eye: by Howard Spurlock. He smiled complacently. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information. “What? She replied, still hazy.
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