‘You would know more of me?’ ‘I would know everything about you,’ Gerald told her, his tone at once provocative and inviting. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay.
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