"He acts queerly, too. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. He listened. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. ‘Why, that’s it. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity.
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