The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. You understand me, sirrah?" "Perfectly," replied Jack.
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