“Yes. The wind is getting stronger. Do you hear, Khorre? The wind is getting stronger!”
“And the gold which we have buried here?” He points below, with his finger.
“The gold? Take it and go with it wherever you like.”
The sailor says angrily:
“You are a bad man, Noni. You have only set foot on earth a little while ago, and you already have the thoughts of a traitor. That’s what the earth is doing!”
“Be silent, Khorre. I am listening. Our sailors are singing. Do you hear? No, that’s the wine rushing to my head. I’ll be drunk soon. Give me another bottle.”
“Perhaps you will go to the priest? He would absolve your sins.”
“Silence!” roars Haggart, clutching at his revolver.
Silence. The storm is increasing. Haggart paces the room in agitation, striking against the walls. He mutters something abruptly. Suddenly he seizes the sail and tears it down furiously, admitting the salty wind. The illumination lamp is extinguished and the flame in the fireplace tosses about wildly—like Haggart.
“Why did you lock out the wind? It’s better now. Come here.”