He answered, in a hoarse, hollow voice,
“A starving man.”
He advanced a few steps, slowly and painfully, as if he were sinking under fatigue.
“Throw me some bones from the table,” he said. “Give me my share along with the dogs.”
There was madness as well as hunger in his eyes while he spoke those words. Steventon placed Mrs. Crayford behind him, so that he might be easily able to protect her in case of need, and beckoned to two sailors who were passing the door of the boat-house at the time.
“Give the man some bread and meat,” he said, “and wait near him.”
The outcast seized on the bread and meat with lean, long-nailed hands that looked like claws. After his first mouthful of the food, he stopped, considered vacantly with himself, and broke the bread and meat into two portions. One portion he put into an old canvas wallet that hung over his shoulder; the other he devoured voraciously. Steventon questioned him.
“Where do you come from?”
“From the sea.”
“Wrecked?”