Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. It ought never to have begun. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. White, my landlady, believes his story. Tell me about your island. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you. You must wait till supper's over.
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