She doesn't
often put wicked ole men in the sea," she said gently, holding out her
hand to help him to his feet. Before she had put Fred in the sea she had
felt it would be much better to go herself than live with Louis any
more. But the flood of madness ebbed; Louis's cowering as she came near
him seemed to her so appalling, so appealing that she could not leave
him, and her hatred of Fred made her set her teeth and determine not to
let him have Louis.
No one spoke. The cab driver was looking at her with adoration in his
eyes; looking round she guessed he was a friend.
"Have you all our luggage?" she asked him.
"Yes, ma--missus," he jerked, jumping and suddenly touching his hat--an
epoch-making thing for an Australian to do.
"Will you help me get my husband to the cab then, please?"
"Aren't you going to wait and see if they fish him out, missus?" he
asked hopefully, jerking his head over towards the companion-way, down
which several sailors had vanished.
"It's no use," she said impatiently. "He isn't a bit of good. If he's
dead all the better. He's a very, very wicked man, you know. He's not
just weak and wobbly. He is so wicked and dreadful that he laughs at
people when they try to be good, and fights the goodness. Naturally it's
better to put him in the sea. If it was a few hundred years ago they'd
burn him as a devil," she nodded reassuringly to the cabman.
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