That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. . ’ The old man simply stared at her. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. He was damned if he knew what to do. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. ’ He received a glare from his captive. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations.
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