offered you my help once—I offer it again. Will you have it?"
The fierceness of his answer took me aback.
"No. I'll have no truck with you or with any woman. Do your damnedest."
As before, my own temper began to rise.
"Perhaps," I said, "you don't realize how much in my power you are? A word from me to the Captain"
"Say it," he sneered. Then advancing with a quick step: "And whilst we're realizing things, my girl, do you realize that you're in my power this minute? I could take you by the throat like this." With a swift gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt his two hands clasp my throat and press—ever so little. "Like this—and squeeze the life out of you! And then—like our unconscious friend here, but with more success—fling your dead body to the sharks. What do you say to that?"
I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew that the danger was real. Just at that moment he hated me. But I knew that I loved the danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my throat. That I would not have exchanged that moment for any other moment in my life.…
With a short laugh he released me.
"What's your name?" he asked abruptly.
"Anne Beddingfeld."
"Does nothing frighten you, Anne Beddingfeld?"
"Oh, yes," I said, with an assumption of coolness I was far from feeling. "Wasps, sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants."
He gave the same short laugh as before. Then he stirred the unconscious form of Pagett with his feet.
"What shall we do with this junk? Throw it overboard?" he asked carelessly.
"If you like," I answered with equal calm.
