That
perhaps she had nothing to say.
"But you'll find out that I can be honest too," he burst out in a
menacing tone, she had learned to appreciate with an amused thrill.
She waited for what was coming. But he hung in the wind. He looked
round the room with disgust as if he could see traces on the walls of all
the casual tenants that had ever passed through it. People had
quarrelled in that room; they had been ill in it, there had been misery
in that room, wickedness, crime perhaps--death most likely. This was not
a fit place. He snatched up his hat. He had made up his mind. The
ship--the ship he had known ever since she came off the stocks, his
home--her shelter--the uncontaminated, honest ship, was the place.
"Let us go on board. We'll talk there," he said. "And you will have to
listen to me. For whatever happens, no matter what they say, I cannot
let you go."
You can't say that (misgivings or no misgivings) she could have done
anything else but go on board. It was the appointed business of that
morning. During the drive he was silent. Anthony was the last man to
condemn conventionally any human being, to scorn and despise even
deserved misfortune.
Pages:
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513