Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. Mr. Decidedly this was imbecile. “I’m a big boy, you know. . Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. . She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience.
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