Down to the shore of the sea she staggered, the wind behind her, the night obscuring her.
"Maura!" cried Philip, running after her. "Maura! come back!"
Great sheaves of clouds buried the moon, and the wind bearing up from the sea bowed the cypress and palm lining the beach.
"Maura—Maura—"
He bumped into some one, a girl, black, part of the dense pattern of the tropical night.
"Maffi," cried Philip, "have you seen Maura down yondah?"
The girl quietly stared at him. Had Philip lost his mind?
"Talk, no!" he cried, exasperated.
And his quick tones sharpened Maffi's vocal anger. Thrusting him aside, she thundered, "Think I'm she keeper! Go'n look fo' she yo'self. I is not she keeper! Le' me pass, move!"