The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. "I've known him all my life," replied the other. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. There is worse to come. “You will not object,” he said, glancing towards her, “to accepting a deposit. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor.
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