"Lord, it is a marrying palaver;" said the man, "and he sends you presents."
"These I accept," said Bosambo; "but tell me, who is this woman he marries?"
The man hesitated.
"Lord," he said reluctantly, "they speak of a white woman whom my lord loved when he was learning white men's ways."
"May he roast in hell!" said Bosambo, shocked to profanity. "But what manner of dog is your master that he does so shameful a thing? For between night and day is twilight, and twilight is the light of evil, being neither one thing nor the other; and between men there is this same. Black is black and white is white, and all that is between is foul and horrible; for if the moon mated with the sun we should have neither day nor night, but a day that was too dark for work and a night that was too light for sleep."
Here there was a subject which touched the Monrovian deeply, pierced his armour of superficial cynicism, overset his pinnacle of self-interest.
"I tell you, Kilimini," he said, "I know white folk, having once been on ship to go to the edge of the world. Also, I have seen nations where white and black are mingled, and these people are without shame, with no pride, for the half of them that is proud is swallowed by the half of them that is shameful, and there is nothing of them but white man's clothing and black man's thoughts."
"Lord," said Kilimini timidly, "this I know, though I fear to say such things, for my king is lately very terrible. Now we Isisi have great sorrow because he is foolish."
Bosambo turned abruptly.
"Go now, Kilimini," he said. "Later I shall see you."