’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. To disillusion her, forthwith. I won't have a beachcomber on the island. It isn’t illusions—for us. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. She has had offers innumerable; for where wealth and beauty are combined, as in her instance, suitors are seldom wanting. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous. We can’t even protect them from themselves. The smile had become a laugh.
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