" "Well, that's a hopeful sign. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. She could tell that he was leering at her. Such a mystery as you have set up. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so. I can be that man, the one I know you want. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything.
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