"Ja, ja, Muntmeester," said the Dutchman, removing the pipe from his mouth, and speaking in a deep and guttural voice, "leave the affair to Johannes. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. Not a moment is to be lost. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. She was given a glimpse of his soul.
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