’ Then Hilary became serious again. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. “He is not—I don’t like him. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. Then she reverted to the trousers. Supper was over. Rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described.
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