"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice.
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