"Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. He made this simple classification of a large and various sex to the exclusion of all intermediate kinds; he held that the two classes had to be kept apart even in thought and remote from one another. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster. He shuddered.
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