It was Blueskin. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars.
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