It was a fact of her
own existence; it was part of the story also. This was the disturbing
thought. She heard him pronounce several names: Belarab, Daman, Tengga,
Ningrat. These belonged now to her life and she was appalled to find she
was unable to connect these names with any human appearance. They stood
out alone, as if written on the night; they took on a symbolic shape;
they imposed themselves upon her senses. She whispered as if pondering:
"Belarab, Daman, Ningrat," and these barbarous sounds seemed to possess
an exceptional energy, a fatal aspect, the savour of madness.
"Not one of them but has a heavy score to settle with the whites. What's
that to me! I had somehow to get men who would fight. I risked my life
to get that lot. I made them promises which I shall keep--or--! Can you
see now why I dared to stop your boat? I am in so deep that I care
for no Sir John in the world. When I look at the work ahead I care for
nothing. I gave you one chance--one good chance. That I had to do. No! I
suppose I didn't look enough of a gentleman. Yes! Yes! That's it. Yet
I know what a gentleman is. I lived with them for years. I chummed with
them--yes--on gold-fields and in other places where a man has got
to show the stuff that's in him. Some of them write from home to me
here--such as you see me, because I--never mind! And I know what a
gentleman would do.
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