6/22 It was a grave, sweet, motherly face, singularly pure and childlike in its innocence. Ruth touched it with reverent fingers. It was a cheap photograph with an ornate border. Posed stiffly in a photographer's chair, against a background which represented a frightful storm at sea, sat Sandy Kilday. His feet were sadly out of focus, and his head was held at an impossible angle by the iron rest which stood like a half-concealed skeleton behind him. |