You will survive, mark my words. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. 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. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. He’s nice. Seconded by his strength and temper, his skill rendered him invincible and he is reputed never to have lost a battle. ” She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him. The room was dark and dusty. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee.
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