“But who’s going to pay for the room?” “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. "There is a man in this room who seeks my life. She could not stir hand or foot. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. I thought you understood. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. CHAPTER X.
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