But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. She turned the television off. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand.
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