The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pineapple rum I opened yesterday. "And now, mark me. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. " "It is," answered Wood.
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