A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. "He's about to cross the river. Niente. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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