Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. 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. ‘Bête. ’ Obediently, Gerald rose and walked to the other end of the parlour. “My brother’s room when he comes home. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that.
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