Was her revenge to fail her? This white man was like a senseless
stone. Too late! Too late!
"And you saw her go?" Almayer's voice sounded harshly above her head.
"Did I not tell you?" she sobbed, trying to wriggle gently out from under
his grip. "Did I not tell you that I saw the witchwoman push the canoe?
I lay hidden in the grass and heard all the words. She that we used to
call the white Mem wanted to return to look at your face, but the
witchwoman forbade her, and--"
She sank lower yet on her elbow, turning half round under the downward
push of the heavy hand, her face lifted up to him with spiteful eyes.
"And she obeyed," she shouted out in a half-laugh, half-cry of pain. "Let
me go, Tuan. Why are you angry with me? Hasten, or you shall be too
late to show your anger to the deceitful woman."
Almayer dragged her up to her feet and looked close into her face while
she struggled, turning her head away from his wild stare.
"Who sent you here to torment me?" he asked, violently. "I do not
believe you. You lie."
He straightened his arm suddenly and flung her across the verandah
towards the doorway, where she lay immobile and silent, as if she had
left her life in his grasp, a dark heap, without a sound or a stir.
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