“What he had was altogether insufficient. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. He admitted that it would bore him to dally here in Canton, with the pleasures of Hong-Kong so close. ‘Not care? For this he must be an Englishman tout à fait sympathique, and— and I know only. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked.
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