“When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. “Did it seem like I was in pain to you?” She smirked. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. “I mean it. She could not explain in words why they disappointed her or that she was disappointed. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. I was given no sword and shield and forced into the ring with a dozen armored warriors with full weaponry.
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