["Oh, as for cheering people up—I don't know....] A woman wants more than anything else in the world to feel that she's needed; and when she discovers she isn't—" . . . Frontispiece
[She turned on me with a new flash in her blue eyes.] "Look here! Tell me honest, now. Are you a swell crook—or ain't you?" "Suppose I say that—that I ain't." "Say, kid!" she responded, coldly, "talk like yourself, will you? ... If you're not a swell crook I can't make you out"
[All these minutes she had been observing me,] with that queer, half-choked cry as the result: "Oh, Billy, is this you?"
[I had begun on collars and neckties] when Vio said, "What kind of a girl was that who was here this afternoon?"
PART I
THE THREAD OF FLAME
CHAPTER I
Without opening my eyes I guessed that it must be between five and six in the morning.
I was snuggled into something narrow. On moving my knee abruptly it came into contact with an upright board. At the same time the end of my bed rose upward, so that my feet were higher than my head. Then the other end rose, and my head was higher than my feet. A slow, gentle roll threw my knee once more against the board, though another slow, gentle roll swung me back to my former position. Far away there was a rhythmic throbbing, like the beating of a pulse. I knew I was on shipboard, and for the moment it was all I knew.
Not quite awake and not quite asleep, I waited as one waits in any strange bed, in any strange place, for the waking mind to reconnect itself with the happenings overnight. Sure of this speedy re-establishment, I dozed again.