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. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. ” “You have been to her?” he asked. There was no rush. “My only answer would be to ask you to look at that mirror and then at the poster. You may have to carry them further and longer than you think. Nobody can trust you.
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