She
had summed him up, convicted him and sentenced him in that one
phrase. He was thief and pirate in her eyes; nothing more, nothing
less. What, then, was she? What are those who have no charity? he
asked the stars.
Well, as she had shaped him hitherto, so let her shape him now.
Thief and pirate she had branded him. She should be justified.
Thief and pirate should he prove henceforth; no more nor less; as
bowelless, as remorseless, as all those others who had deserved
those names. He would cast out the maudlin ideals by which he had
sought to steer a course; put an end to this idiotic struggle to
make the best of two worlds. She had shown him clearly to which
world he belonged. Let him now justify her. She was aboard his
ship, in his power, and he desired her.
He laughed softly, jeeringly, as he leaned on the taffrail, looking
down at the phosphorescent gleam in the ship's wake, and his own
laughter startled him by its evil note. He checked suddenly, and
shivered. A sob broke from him to end that ribald burst of mirth.
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