“Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. 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. The performance over, he relaxed and closed his eyes. I don’t care. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor.
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