“What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security. I fight. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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