And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. Cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. She left for good after he fell asleep. Besides, he might hear things. That capitaine has arranged it all. Disperse in every direction.
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