You--you are not straight."
The flares held on high streamed right up without swaying, and in that
instant of profound calm the shadows on the brig's deck became as still
as the men.
"You think not?" said Lingard, thoughtfully.
Carter nodded. He resented the turn of the incident and the growing
impulse to surrender to that man.
"Mrs. Travers trusts me though," went on Lingard with gentle triumph as
if advancing an unanswerable argument.
"So she says," grunted Carter; "I warned her. She's a baby. They're all
as innocent as babies there. And you know it. And I know it. I've heard
of your kind. You would dump the lot of us overboard if it served your
turn. That's what I think."
"And that's all."
Carter nodded slightly and looked away. There was a silence. Lingard's
eyes travelled over the brig. The lighted part of the vessel appeared in
bright and wavering detail walled and canopied by the night. He felt a
light breath on his face. The air was stirring, but the Shallows, silent
and lost in the darkness, gave no sound of life.
This stillness oppressed Lingard. The world of his endeavours and his
hopes seemed dead, seemed gone. His desire existed homeless in the
obscurity that had devoured his corner of the sea, this stretch of the
coast, his certitude of success.
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