“What about Khorre? Why don’t you like him, Mariet? We are so much like each other.”
“He is like you?” says the woman with contempt. “No, Haggart! But here is what he did: He gave gin to little Noni again to-day. He moistened his finger and gave it to him. He will kill him, father.”
Haggart laughs:
“Is that so bad? He did the same to me.”
“And he dipped him in cold water. The boy is very weak,” says Mariet morosely.
“I don’t like to hear you speak of weakness. Our boy must be strong. Khorre! Three days without gin.”
He shows him three fingers.
“Who should be without gin? The boy or I?” asks Khorre gloomily.
“You!” replies Haggart furiously. “Begone!”
The sailor sullenly gathers his belongings—the pouch, the pipe, and the flask—and wabbling, goes off. But he does not go far—he sits down upon a neighbouring rock. Haggart and his wife look at him.