"Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. There were two of them. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. . Not for me. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away.
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