And, if Rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been plunged in total darkness. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. It dawned upon him that he had been abominably used by Ann Veronica. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing.
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