She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. “I didn’t ask you to get married. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. You are greatly altered. But I’m thinking as how I’d best report to the major over this here shooting. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon.
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