"She'd think me no better
than a savage--and, damn it! I'm not much above the savage state,
as far as this side of life is concerned."
Grant interrupted his mournful musings with: "Now, if you'll
excuse me, I'll have my bath."
And, Walter following, he went in at a door to the right, through
which Craig had a glimpse of marble walls and floor, of various
articles of more than Roman luxury. The moments dragged away until
half an hour had passed.
"What the devil!" Josh called out. "What are you doing all this
time?"
"Massage," responded Grant. "You can come in."
Craig entered the marble chamber, seated himself on a corner of
the warmed marble couch on which Grant lay luxuriating in Walter's
powerful massage. "Do you go through this thing often?" demanded
he.
"Every morning--except when I'm roughing it. You ought to take
massage, Josh. It's great for the skin."
Craig saw that it was. His own skin, aside from his hands and
face, was fairly smooth and white; but it was like sandpaper, he
thought, beside this firm, rosy covering of the elegant
Arkwright's elegant body. "Get through here and send Walter away,"
he said harshly. "I want to talk to you.
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