Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. ’ Gerald started. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. It was a sickening process, and the sucking sound was sure to wake up Ray’s mother. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. 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. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it.
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