It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. The first Step towards the Ladder. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. 7.
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