Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please. Quilt was not long in following his example. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction.
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