"He was my husband," she explained.
"Not an Orenian?" he gasped.
She shook her head. "But he was going to kill me."
Morgan shot a horrified glance at the body floating far out on the swift tide. Three sharks were circling lazily. He looked around for a boat, saw none. He swiftly estimated his chances of swimming out after the fat man and towing him in. The chances appeared to be nil. Nevertheless, he began stripping off his shirt.
"Don't bother," said the girl. "He was stung last week."
Morgan stared at her silently for a moment. She seemed not in the least perturbed. If the man had been stung by an Orenian, he was lost anyway. Ruefully, he rebuttoned his shirt.
"I leapt to a bad conclusion."
"That he was an Orenian? He would have been, soon. Besides—you have to leap to conclusions nowadays, to stay alive."
"You don't seem to worry."