After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. She opened it and imbibed. “Marriage certificates don’t tell lies, at any rate,” he said. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. I know who hits hardest. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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