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Looks like a mudflat to me from here." "Yes. It is a mudflat," said Lingard, slowly, raising the long glass to his eye. "Haul the mainsail up, Mr. Shaw," he went on while he took a steady look at the yacht. "We will have to work in short tacks here." He put the glass down and moved away from the rail.
"And for three days she begged me to take yours," said Willems quickly. "For three days she wouldn't give me any peace. She was never still. She planned ambushes. She has been looking for places all over here where I could hide and drop you with a safe shot as you walked up. It's true. I give you my word." "Your word," muttered Lingard, contemptuously. Willems took no notice. "Ah!
Lingard," she said, Helen stopped in the middle of an embroidery stitch, and gave her a look as if she were about to ask for her testimonials "I could well wish, if it pleased God, that I were as near home as you." Leopold took her hand in his. "Do you suffer then?" he said.
A serried flock of white rice birds rose above the trees with a faint scream, and hovered, swaying in a disordered mass that suddenly scattered in all directions, as if burst asunder by a silent explosion. Behind his back Lingard heard a shuffle of feet women leaving the hut.
Twelve o'clock the next day was the hour appointed for their visit to Mr. Hooker, and at eleven he was dressed and ready restless, agitated, and very pale, but not a whit less determined than at first. Ramshorn's carriage. "Why is Mr. Wingfold not coming?" asked Lingard, anxiously, when it began to move. "I fancy we shall be quite as comfortable without him, Poldie," said Helen.
Lingard gazed at the woman who expected so much from him and in the light she seemed to shed he saw himself leading a column of armed boats to the attack of the Settlement. He could burn the whole place to the ground and drive every soul of them into the bush. He could! And there was a surprise, a shock, a vague horror at the thought of the destructive power of his will.
The breath of his words, of the very words he spoke, fanned the spark of divine folly in his breast, the spark that made him the hard-headed, heavy-handed adventurer stand out from the crowd, from the sordid, from the joyous, unscrupulous, and noisy crowd of men that were so much like himself. Willems said hurriedly: "It wasn't me. The evil was not in me, Captain Lingard."
"Alone!" exclaimed Lingard. "Who are you?" "Only a servant of Lakamba. But land, Tuan Putih, and see my face. Here is my hand. No! Here! . . . By your mercy. . . . Ada! . . . Now you are safe." "And you are alone here?" said Lingard, moving with precaution a few steps into the courtyard. "How dark it is," he muttered to himself "one would think the world had been painted black." "Yes. Alone.
His eyes wandered downward following the line of her shoulder. "Of me of me!" he repeated. All this was said almost in whispers. The sound of slow footsteps was heard on deck above their heads. Lingard turned his face to the open skylight. "On deck there! Any wind?" All was still for a moment. Somebody above answered in a leisurely tone: "A steady little draught from the northward."
Not long after Mary came back from the asylum, I heard a young Dane, who was helping us to thrash, tell Jake and Otto that Chris Lingard’s oldest girl had put Ole Benson out of his head, until he had no more sense than his crazy wife. When Ole was cultivating his corn that summer, he used to get discouraged in the field, tie up his team, and wander off to wherever Lena Lingard was herding.
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