There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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