Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. Gosse sneered. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. Then fury claimed her and she could no longer pretend. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before.
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