These would render the invincible smile of Spike more refulgent than ever.
The next birthday of Merle Whipple was celebrated at a time when Spike had been particularly painstaking in view of an approaching combat.

Not only did he leave his young friend with an eye that compelled the notice, an eye lavishly displaying all the tints yet revealed by spectroscopic analysis, and which by itself would have rendered him socially undesirable, but he bore a swollen nose and a split and puffy lip; bore them proudly, it should be said, and was not enough cast down, in Winona's opinion, that his shameful wounds would deter him from mingling with decent folk.

Indeed, Winona had to be outspoken before she convinced him that a birthday party was now no place for him.

He would have gone without misgiving, and would have pridefully recounted the sickening details of that last round in which Spike Brennon had permitted himself to fancy he faced a veritable antagonist.

Still he cared little for the festivity.
He saw Patricia from a distance in River Street, but pulled the dingy cap lower and avoided her notice.