“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs.
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