One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. No matter. That there Frenchie didn’t look any too friendly to me. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. . I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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