She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. E. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. “It spreads like wildfire. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. Moving room to room it was.
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