" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. While the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame. Heliers. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. . " A deep indignant groan followed. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy.
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