He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. I don’t know. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. "I've a good deal to do.
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