"Now I wonder," said he, "where you are going to sit down?"
A youngster in the Police got up and pushed his chair forward, but Laura
shook her head.
"I am going out there," she said, pointing to the furthermost stern,
where passengers were not encouraged to sit, "and I want to consult
you."
Markin got up. "If there's anything pressin' on your mind," he said,
"you can't do better."
Laura said nothing until they were alone with the rushing of the screw,
two Lascars, some coils of rope, and a couple of brass compasses. Then
she opened the packet. "These," she said, "these are pressing on my
mind."
She held out a string of pearls, a necklace of pearls and turquoises, a
heavy band bracelet, studded, Delhi fashion, with gems, and one or two
lesser fantasies.
"Jewelry!" said Markin. "Real or imitation?"
"So far as that goes, they are good. Mr. Lindsay gave them to me. But
what have I to do with jewels, the very emblem of the folly of the
world, the desire that itches in palms that crucify Him afresh daily,
the price of sin?" She leaned against the masthead as she spoke. The
wind blew her hair and her skirt out toward the following seas. With
that look in her eyes she seemed a creature who had alighted on the ship
but who could not stay.
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