"There are sharks in Sydney Harbour, too," she added reflectively.
"Oh cripes!" cried the cabman reverently. "Come on then, boss," he
added, turning to Louis. "Heave hold of my shoulder. If old monkey face
is drowned your missus'll hear sharp enough from the police."
Suddenly she ran back to the companion-way. She did not look to see
where Ole Fred was. Keeping her eyes averted she called, "Good-bye,
Knollys. Thank you for being so kind to me."
Then she took Louis's hand without a word. He stood immovable.
"Feel sh-shick, ole girl," he gasped.
She stood still, feeling sick, too.
"Go on, ma--I'll tend him," said the cabman. Marcella walked on with her
head in the air, looking disgusted. After a few minutes she turned and
saw the cabman struggling to drag him along. His legs lagged foolishly.
"Can't walk, ole girl. Legs all cross-nibbed, ole girl," he moaned.
"You're not to talk, Louis," she said calmly.
"Talk? Talk? Can't talk. Parlez-vous Franshay, Marsh-shella? Voulez-vous
coucher avec moi? Baisez-moi, ma petite--!"
She faced him suddenly.
"Look here, Louis. If you talk French one of us goes in the harbour. I'd
rather it was me. Either that or I'll take my hands and choke you. _You_
know they're strong hands--made in Scotland, Louis--bony, not a bit
wobbly. Now what do you think?"
He made a sudden effort, threw off the cabman's detaining hand, swayed a
little and then steered a straight course for the cab, stumbling over
the step and crawling in on his knees.
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