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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Every one of us," he said, with pauses that somehow were more offensive than his words "every one of us, you'll admit, has been haunted by some woman . . . And . . . as to friends . . . dropped by the way . . . Well! . . . ask yourselves . . ." He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the deck. Jackson spoke seriously "Don't be so beastly cynical." "Ah!
His face was impassive, and he kept still like a man in a trance. Hollis sat up quickly, and spread his elbows on the table. Jackson made a brusque movement, and accidentally touched the guitar. A plaintive resonance filled the cabin with confused vibrations and died out slowly. Then Karain began to speak again.
Karain seemed to take no notice of us, but when Hollis threw open the lid of the box his eyes flew to it and so did ours. The quilted crimson satin of the inside put a violent patch of colour into the sombre atmosphere; it was something positive to look at it was fascinating. Hollis looked smiling into the box. He had lately made a dash home through the Canal.
Hollis, stripped to the waist, lay stretched out on the lockers, with closed eyes and motionless like a despoiled corpse; at his head Jackson twanged the guitar, and gasped out in sighs a mournful dirge about hopeless love and eyes like stars. Then we heard startled voices on deck crying in the rain, hurried footsteps overhead, and suddenly Karain appeared in the doorway of the cabin.
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