It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. “Annabel;” he moaned. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. ” His rhythm slowed to a grind. " "Let this speak for me," said Sheppard, tossing a heavy bag of money towards him.
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