It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ‘Let’s see now. "What's the matter with the man?" demanded Wild. " Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. The inside was empty except for an infant, which from a distance looked utterly normal.
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