Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. Ah, no, I have it wrong. ‘Laisse-moi. Those were dreams. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis. Although she did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. ” “Don’t be shy, Lucy.
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