It was an impulse. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. " "I tell 'ee what, saltwater," said Ben, "I'll lay you my fare—and that'll be two shillin'—I'm back in an hour. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire.
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