" That was true, thought Spurlock. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. A forgotten island beyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and move blindly in its search for him! From what he had read, there wouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of.
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